Angel
by pinkpeaches
Summary: What would have happened if Sydney never told Danny about SD-6? My take on how fate would take control...the long awaited Ch. 9!!!!!
1. Lilies in the Sun

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While watching the Alias marathon I was struck with an interesting idea; what if Sydney never told Danny about SD-6? Would she ever have met Vaughn? That spawned the beginnings of this, my first fanfic. Read, review, and most of all, enjoy!

~ If they were mine, you'd see them together on TV

~ Feedback is welcomed and craved : little_pink_monkeys64@hotmail.com

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~PG….just a couple of naughty words, that's all 

Readers, beware….shippery waters ahead! All right, I'll shut up now….here goes nothing!

~*~*~*~*Angel*~*~*~*~

Chapter I: Lilies in the Sun

By: Lulu

The sun peeked out from a curtain of clouds, its heat encompassing each gentle breeze that passed down below. The wind blew softly through the tall blades of green grass, rolling through the sloping hills. The sky was a blunt blue, bright and glowing, its hue mocking their purpose.

He hated doing this. Yet they kept asking him to do it, so often that he went without being asked. He stood straight and tall, as he always had, staring straight through the priest before him. Pools of a pastel green lit his large irises, glowing through the film of sadness that was drawn taut over them. His eyes wandered to the child next to the widower, a small brown-haired girl who peered out blankly at the flag covered casket. The look on her face brought back memories that he had long tried to bury in the back of his mind, feelings that always resurfaced with every casket, every funeral, every orphaned child.

Maybe Alice was right, he thought. Maybe that was why he was so quiet, so reserved, so hidden. At the start of their relationship he had been different. So alive, so romantic and spontaneous. His job had begun to take a toll of his personal life and slowly the passion they once had died. So did their relationship.

Only one thing kept him sane through everything, the one thing Alice had given him as a reminder of sorts of the better days. She might have looked nothing like her mother, yet something about her had Alice written all over it. Maybe it was the way Olivia laughed, or may it was the way her eyes literally bled from pain when she cried. Whatever it was his daughter kept him alive, and for that Vaughn would be forever grateful.

Then it was time for him to play his part. He gave the widower the agency's condolences and knelt before the child, placing a thumb on the tip of her pigtails. She looked up at him with a deep anger and sadness that could break the smallest heart. Damn them, he thought. Damn whoever could take away a child's mother and still sleep at night. He smiled gently at her, using his forefinger and thumb to raise her chin.

"Mister, why isn't my mommy coming home?" The question itself was simple, yet he had not the heart to answer it. Instead he tweaked the time of her nose and swallowed the small lump in his throat.

"Sweetie, you're mommy's an angel now," he replied, smiling softly. She smiled, pressing her lips together in a noticeable effort to keep down the tears. He pulled his hand out from behind his back and handed her a single lily, which her father than instructed her to place atop the mahogany wood. As they walked to the car she held her father's hand tightly, waiting patiently as the door was opened for her. Just before stepping in she twisted around and waved, a small smile plastered on her face.

He placed his own lily onto the casket before him and began the walk to his car. The caravan following the hearse had been long and seemingly endless, yet the walk didn't bother Vaughn. Near a large folded oak a woman stood, running a finger along the top of the headstone. As he opened the door to his car, their eyes met, and she smiled. He grinned back and got in the car, fording the road home.

~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~

The sun was painfully bright, too bright for the way she felt. It had been five years since she lost her husband, five years of living life without her Danny. His laugh, his smile, his eyes, all were still vivid in her memory as if it had been only days since they were last together. 

Sydney stood before the headstone, a boutique of Easter lilies held tightly between her fingers. She knelt before the grave and placed them down, resting on her heels. A large lump grew in her throat, tears clouding over her deep brown eyes. She smiled and laughed gently, swallowing and wiping the tears under her eyelashes.

" Hey Danny. I'm back. I can't believe it's already been five years. The kids and I, we're holding our own, but I miss you so much. They miss you. Aidan is looking more and more like you everyday and Charlotte's shooting up. No one believes she's five; she certainly doesn't act like it. Laura has your eyes, so deep and full of meaning." Her voice was caught, and when she opened her mouth to continue sound failed to filter out. She drew in a deep breath and paused before she continued.

"Work is a bitch, as always. The boss finally cut the frequency of my trips because of the kids…." She continued on, plucking little details from a life that he unwillingly left behind. An hour later she stood up and brushed the grass from her knees, her beep jerking her out of the calm reverie she had built herself. She sighed and ran a finger along the top of the tombstone. 

She glanced out at the paved road that twisted and turned between the grassy hills of the solemn cemetery, her eyes falling on the form of a tall man getting into his car. It had been a hassle just finding a place to park, as a stone black hearse led a lengthily caravan to a freshly unearthed plot. When she saw the American flag draped over the casket she immediately thought of a veteran or active officer, her mind briefly considering an intelligence agent.

The sight of the man sent a strange chill up her spine, and as their eyes met, she smiled gently. Immediately she was rewarded by a handsome grin before he got into his car and drive down the path. She sighed and began trekking down to the pavement, a warm breeze wrapping around her. Starting the car, she kissed at the air, blowing it towards the grave. I love you Danny, she thought. Save me a lily up there. 

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All right now it's your turn….please review!!! I have some of the second chapter waiting…and if I don't get either a review or feedback (good or bad) I'll hold it hostage! 

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	2. A California Sunset

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All right, so I lied. Right after I uploaded I realized the slipperiness was absent you'll probably need another chapter to at least get into this, so here it is…but after this, I promise, I will hold chapters hostage. Thanks for the feedback…and don't worry, shippers will be rewarded shortly.

~ Same rules apply…this time our favorite couple meets…all hail the shippers

~ Its G…I think

~ little_pink_monkeys64@hotmail.com_ =feedback_

~ If I owned them you'd see them together on TV…anyone you don't recognize is mine

~*~*~*~*~*~Angel~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter II: A California Sunset

By: Lulu

"DAD!!!!!!" a female voice yelled from behind the closed door. Michael Vaughn jerked up, his head shooting vertically from the feathers that cradled it. He massaged his temples with the pads of his fingers and groaned, rolling out of bed. He slumped over to the door and opened it to reveal a tall, thin preteen in a white tank top and tropical board shorts. A pair of brown sunglasses rested on top of her plaited head and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Olivia, it's before noon on a Saturday morning. Shouldn't you be in bed?" He walked past her and into the kitchen where he turned on the coffeemaker before he noticed that she had followed him and stood arms crossed over her chest.

"Dad, it's eleven. Luke Synder's party is today remember?"

"Sweetie it starts at noon."

"Daddy its in Malibu…beach party remember?" He moved to the wooden cupboard and removed a coffee mug before crossing to the refrigerator. Sneaking a look at his daughter a smile crept across his face as he took in her features.

He named her Olivia for her deceased aunt, his genius dancer of a sister that tangoed with leukemia for five years before she danced into death's arms. She had her namesake's chocolate brown curls and her crystal green eyes, a smile bright and unique. She had been born six months after the beginning of the Vaughns' divorce proceedings, and when Michael vouched for custody he wasn't fought. She had been with him for eleven years ever since.

"Daddy? What's so funny?" a curious smile grew on her face as she watched him pour a cup of coffee, gulping it down with thirst, perhaps for the liquid, or for the caffeine. He shook his head and kissed the top of her head.

"Nothing, angel. Nothing." She reached out and hugged him, squeezing tight. "Now, please tell me whatever you have underneath that is all one piece."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"MOM!!!" The crisp yell radiated throughout the large house, reaching Sydney Bristow Hecht's ears as she leaned against the bathroom door, eyes closed. She moaned, shuffling her feet to the shower. After a quick dip in the icy water she dressed in a wine red quarter-length blouse and a dark denim jean skirt that met the cap of her knee, resurfacing from behind the wooden door appearing refreshed and awakened, a feeling foreign to her since her days before SD-6.

The feeling that consumed her now were different. With each mission she grew increasing ill at ease, and no matter what she told herself nothing was a consolation. Her feelings were echoed each time that she visited Danny. Every trip to the cemetery she encountered large crowds of mourners, every casket draped with a clean American flag. At first coincidence was the logical thought that ran through her head, yet as the events multiplied with increasing speed, she thought differently. 

Today that feeling remained, although it had been pushed far back into the deepest recesses of her mind. Instead a new emotion replaced it, one light and carefree. It must have been apparent on her face, as the moment she descended the stairs her tall, stalky daughter raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Looks like somebody woke up on the right side of the bed this morning," the girl cooed into Sydney's ear as they embraced. Sydney kissed the top of her forehead and smiled brightly.

"Oh really?" She laughed softly as she peered around the kitchen, poking her head out into the living room to bask in the rare silence. "Where's your brother?"

"Mom do you really have to ask that question? Since when is Aidan up before twelve on the weekends?"

"Good point. Maybe it is a good idea that Charlotte's at Aunt Francie's." They moved back into the kitchen, where Sydney poured herself a fresh mug of coffee, handing her daughter a glass of orange juice. "The better question is, why are **you** up this early?"

A child-like pout formed on Laura's lips, a laugh twinkling in her eye. The expression glazed over her feature may have been all Danny, yet she had been named after her late grandmother for a reason. The dark curls, the height, the intelligence, all things Laura Bristow possessed in abundance. She was dressed in a delicate pink sundress, its print a Hawaiian floral, sunglasses ready and waiting atop the crown of her head.

"Mommy!"

"I think we should go pay your grandfather a visit. That is why you nearly woke the dead with all that yelling of yours, right?"

"Mom I'm at a new school this year. I **have** to go to this party…"

Sydney sighed and grinned brightly, moving into the living room to gather her purse from the coffee table. Laura followed her and watched intently. "Well? The party's waiting."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The hours of the day dwindled down slowly on the sun soaked shores of Malibu, California. The powerful current of salty water tugged and crashed into the shoreline, releasing a gentle churn to voice the energy it possessed. The sun slowly sunk towards the atmosphere in the east, its brilliant rays painting the majestic sky in an array of watercolors, red, orange, yellow, pink. _In the darkest parts of the sky the stars had began to lightly luster, informing the gazers down below of their everlasting presence._

It had been a while since she'd seen on like this. Work threw her across the world and back again to some of the most exotic locations known to man, yet she had been taken the time to enjoy it all. Not that time even allowed her a moment to bask in nature's brilliance, so even if she had wanted to safety was not on her side. In the time she spent away from her life and her children she had never allowed herself to actually sit back, loosen up and enjoy what was before her.

No matter how she thought to herself otherwise, the logical truth never failed to rear its ugly head in her direction. Her life up to the present had been built on a foundation of lies. Her husband, her family, her friends, all thought she was the international investment banker climbing the charts on her way to ultimate success. Never in their wildest dreams would they have imagined that their spouse, their mother, their best friend was a spy of a secret branch of their government's top intelligence agency. Never would they imagine that she held the lives of many people in the palm of her hand. 

She almost told him once. She met Danny at the oil wells near Los Angeles International Airport, the thoughts running rapidly through her mind. One look into his eyes and something told her to shut her mouth. He had been the most important thing to her, and she couldn't stand their marriage being based on deception. Yet that day she kept her mouth shut. An unknown force kept her jaw wire shut as she searched for different words, safer words. Deceiving words. And she found them. He never knew.

"Nothing like a beautiful California sunset," a voice to the left of her spoke. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest and nodded certainly. She turned cocked her head up and to the left to see the one who spoke.

Staring back at her were a pair of deep green eyes. She lost herself in the pools of deep green that had settled themselves in his eyes. Sandy brown hair capped his head; an olive button down shirt and black slacks brought out the green in those eyes that captured her concentration and refused to let go. He smiled brightly and motioned back to the brightly-lit beach house.

"I'm sorry-I just need some air. If you'd like to be by yourself-" the man spoke, his hands resting dead in his pockets.

"No that's all right. Actually I'm just enjoying the scene. I'm out of town so often that I never get to enjoy what's right in front of me." She scrambled about the red plaid blanket previously lain in the sand. She stood and smiled, thumbs hanging onto the waistline of her skirt.

"Michael Vaughn," he replied, extending his hand out towards her.

"Sydney Hecht," she answered, shaking his hand.

"Ah, mother of the famous Hecht twins. My daughter's obsessed with the fact that she actually knows a pair of twins."

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows up and down once in a swift movement. Really? She thought to herself. C'mon Syd, what are you fifteen? "Who's your daughter?"

"Olivia's mine, unfortunately for her." His smile was hinted with a humor she hadn't seen before.

"Wow, I never would have guessed. I assume she has her mother's looks then," she answered with her own smile, and was met by his laugh.

"Actually, she looks like my sister. Even her mother thought so."

"Your daughter's an angel. Laura's been wanting to switch schools for ages and having great friends helps." The awkward silence thickly laced itself over them and was broken but the yells coming from the house in the background. The door burst open and the several dozen preteens ran out, screaming and laughing at each other. Sydney wrapped her arms about herself as they watch their children run about, their hands carrying lit morning glory fireworks. The large crowd of parents migrated out and joined them, immediately sweeping them away from each other.

In mist a conversation with the Synders she looked up at caught his eye. His head was throw back with laughter at something the crowd of middle-aged woman that had gathered around him said, a look of genuine happiness is his eye. With his smile at her she wished she could share in his joy, and for some reason she knew that somehow she would.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The day was long. Too long for his comfort. The moment he set foot in the Snyder's hundred thousand-dollar beach home every woman within the property's perimeter was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. They spoiled and pampered him to the best of their ability, catering to his every need. Then they began the quest they created long ago. They tried to set him up on a date.

"What about the Driscoll girl," one said, describing her sister-in-law in detail.

"No no no," another started, shaking her head wildly. They brought up candidate after candidate, arguing whom they thought best. 

The air began to suffocate him. Maybe it was the repeated pressing of these women into his personal life because they lost interest in theirs, or the blinding lights of the pristine beachside home. Whatever it was he need out and he need clean oxygen, now. So he politely excused himself and took a stroll along the sandy shoreline, pausing to soak in the fading sunlight that splashed the sky with color as it slowly disappeared.

He took in the beauty with each breath of salty air, glancing out at the never-ending span of deep sea. The ever-inconstant moon was beginning to poke its head out, slowly taking over the vast sky. He took comfort in the simplicity of the natural scene before him, something he had seen many a time but took for granted.

He began moving back to where he came from. With each step he did his best to rid him mind of the memories that plagued him. His father, his sister, his job. Everything he had seen he longed to forget, although he knew he couldn't. He never would. With every step he tried to forget the things he had seen, the places he had been. Lately one thing had haunted him during the rare night of sleep. The same thing that had begun to show through the slowly darkening sky. A star.

Langley's own memorial to the agents it had lost. Stars lining a wall hidden behind a book encompassed in thick glass. A five pointed star embossed in gold. Each star chiseled itself a place in his memory, yet none more then the one that bore his father's name. The star was the embodiment of the fear that he just now was beginning to face.

Would he become one of those stars? Would he become one of the numerous names embossed in the simple geometric figure? He lived plagued with the fear that he would be reduced to nothing but a star, leaving his daughter orphaned the way others had been. He sighed and placed his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. 

"Nothing like a beautiful California sunset," he replied to himself, his eyes focused on the striking hues that lit the sky. Looking down at his feet, his eyes were met with the large ovals of deep brown. They began to grow and shrink as the light faded, the gentle glow of the disappearing sun wrapping them in a light all their own. Straight brown lock ended abruptly just off the shoulder, scattered on the surface of a wine colored blouse. He smiled and nodded back to the party behind them.

"I'm sorry-I just need some air. If you'd like to be by yourself-"Vaughn began, stopping himself before he began to stutter. She scrambled to stand and smiled back, her face gentle.

"No that's all right. Actually I'm just enjoying the scene. I'm out of town so often that I never get to enjoy what's right in front of me." She stood, just feet before him, her hands stiffly hanging onto the waistline of her denim skirt.

"Michael Vaughn," he said, extending his hand.

"Sydney Hecht," was the replied that reached his ears. He smiled, remembering how his daughter told him about her new best friend, who had a twin brother.

" Ah, mother of the famous Hecht twins. My daughter's obsessed with the fact that she actually knows a pair of twins." Inside he smacked himself. Using Olivia as conversation Vaughn? An inner voice spoke. Cheap cheap cheap.

"Really? Who's your daughter?"

"Olivia's mine, unfortunately for her." So now you think your funny? The voice asked as he smiled.

" Wow, I never would have guessed. I assume she has her mother's looks then," she replied, her own smile producing a laugh.

"Actually she looks like my sister. Even her mother thought so."

" Your daughter's an angel. Laura's wanted to switch schools for ages and having great friends helps." The silence that followed was more suffocating then the air that he had retreated from. Fortunately it was immediately broken as the party moved itself outside. The entire group of teenagers migrated onto the beachfront, chasing each other, fireworks in hand. They broke apart as the nosey women returned.

"All right Michael I think we've decided on somebody," a young married mother replied, giggling gently with his loud laugh. Will these women never stop? He thought, glancing around in the dim light. He caught Sydney's eye and winked, arousing a laugh that she wasn't able to explain to those she had been talking to. It may have been the first time they met, but he was certain it wouldn't be the last.

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Thank you sooo much for the feedback! Since this chapter isn't shippery enough for my standards you'll get another shortly so keep it coming!!!! 

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	3. Mon Ange

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All righty kiddos here goes again…I hope you liked the second chapter, but as I said, it wasn't shippery enough for my standards. So here I go again, much more S/V action in this one…and if I get my reviews, dare I say, a date? And don't worry, its not all love and roses…the angst is coming soon. Ah yes, this chapter contains a song that I thought was completely appropriate if you think about it…

~ PG-13…its all just emotions

~ If I owned them, I wouldn't be writing this…then again knowing me maybe I would…look just don't sue me :D The song's not mine either, it belongs to Sarah McLachlan……

~ Feedback: little_pink_monkeys64@hotmail.com

~_P.S. Thanks, Prin Daddy for telling me about Ch. 2's little "problem"! Fortunately I think it's fixed now…thanks for the support to all…keep it coming!_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Angel~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By: Lulu

Chapter III: Mon Ange

They sat around the coffee table on the antique floor rug spread on the hardwood floor, each holding a glass of wine between their fingers. They met at least twice a month to have these informal feasts together, merely to keep in contact and enjoy each other's company. That night they began to hone in on a topic that Sydney would rather die then touch: dating.

Both Francie and Amy argued the same thing: five years alone was five years too long. Everyone told her the healthiest thing was to just move on. Deep down inside she knew she needed to. But something kept her from it. Perhaps the hidden fear that she would be betraying Danny by even daring to dream of somehow loving another.

They were suddenly interrupted by the sound to footsteps pounding down on the rushes of shiny wood that lined the floor of the house. Two little girls ran through, one blonde, the other a brunette, through the hallway and out, crawling up the staircase. They were followed by Laura and Olivia, who moved at a slower pace towards the entrance to the second level, sodas in hand.

"Wait wait come back here," Sydney called out, snagging the belt loop of her daughter's overalls. Laura dramatically fell backwards into her mother's lap, taking her friend down with her. They giggled and sat up, straightening the scattered sofa cushions behind them, peering up expectantly, awaiting an answer. "Where's Aidan?"

"Well," Laura began, a strange twinkle in her eye," he was the backseat of your car foggin up the windows with some chick from eighth grade-aw c'mon Mom. He's outside playing ball like he always is."

"I could go get him for you if you'd like," Olivia interjected. Her unexpected answered commanded the attention of the room as they all gazed at the new one among them with unmasked interest. She smiled charmingly, her eyes appearing timid as Laura stood to introduce her.

"Aunt Francie, Uncle Charlie, Will, Amy, this is my friend Olivia Vaughn. Liv, that's my mom's best friend Francie, her husband Charlie, and the Tippins, Will and Amy." Olivia smiled and twirled about for them, curling in her right foot. They laughed and smiled at her exaggerated smile, her bouncy curls and her deep emerald eyes.

"Actually, sweetie, if you wouldn't mind…" Sydney replied, referring to the suggested offer proposed prior to her introduction. The girl flashed a bright grin and received a push towards the back of the house as the young Hecht swatted her lower back with a pillow.

"As I was saying-"Francie started, interrupted midsentence by the crisp cut ring of the doorbell. Both Sydney and Laura struggled to get to the door first, scrambling over each other. Suprisingly they were both beat to the punch by Francie, Amy on her heels. Together they flung the door open, their bright grins battling for superiority.

"Well hello there," Amy started, voicing her words so all in the room could hear. "What can we do for you?"

"Um, actually I'm here to pick up my daughter, Olivia," a voice replied, drawing a moan from Sydney. Save yourself Michael, she thought. Nobody can help you now.

"Come on in," Francie replied, grabbing the cuff of one of his arms as Amy grabbed the other to pull him in just before they thrusted the door shut. "Hey Syd," she stated, leading him into the room. "Look who I found lurking outside your front door."

Laura chuckled, quickly covering it up with a hoarse cough. A sympathetic smile lit the corners of Sydney's mouth as she stood and joined him.

"Michael I'm so sorry-"She began before Charlie stood up, his eyes gaping.

"Vaughn? Mikey Vaughn?"

"Singing Charlie?" They sung together in unison, greeting each other with vigorous handshakes and slaps on the back.

"Man, it's been a long time," Charlie began, the bright smile plastered on his face. "How's Alice?"

"Actually that's a good question, but unfortunately I can't answer that. Alice and I divorced after Olivia was born.

"Oh man I'm sorry."

"Nah, don't be. It was for the better." He smiled gently as he received a wink from Francie.

"You know what? You should join us for dinner on Friday." Francie's interjection surprised most of them. "I'm Charlie's wife, Francie, by the way."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure three's not a crowd?"

"Well now it's not. Sydney's joining us as well. Fours a party." Both Sydney and Vaughn winced, having walked into a well-set trap that landed them both in a date. She opened her mouth to argue as Francie's saving grace came streaming in from the back door. A tall, exhausted-looking preteen with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes cradled a weathered basketball under his arm, followed by a disheveled Olivia.

"You got better kid," he called, smiling at Vaughn as he passed, nodding to the others. "Your kid's a pretty good ball player for a dancer," Aidan replied, pausing to catch his breath.

"Of course. I taught her how to play." That moment he crossed the room to envelop his daughter in a tight embrace. The girl squealed and responded with an equal affection that made the others in the room watch in awe.

The sun rises and sets in his eyes, Sydney thought. Then she had to wonder: what would her life had been like if she had a father like that? One who loved her and adored her as much as Michael Vaughn loved his daughter? Would she have grown to be what she had become? A spy for a secret branch of the CIA who saved millions of lives everyday. Yet the world thought she was another banking executive. Would having a loving father made it easier to lie to her family and friends?

"Well I think it's time for us to head home, kiddo," he began, ruffling her dark curls. Her lips puffed into a pout as she hugged Laura and said her good-byes. She waved to then all and caught the car keys that were tossed to her with a natural ease and retrieved her bags, heading out to the parked vehicle.

"Nice meeting you, Michael," Amy said, smiling.

"A pleasure," he nodded. "Thanks for watching my kid on such a short notice, Sydney."

"No problem," she replied, smiling brightly. Laura came and hugged her mother tightly. "Anytime."

"So we'll see you on Friday right?" Charlie inquired.

"Um sure-"

"All right. We'll meet here at seven thirty."

"But what about-"

" Liv and I can watch Cindy," Laura offered, smiling and winking at Francie.

"Great!" Francie replied. "It's a date!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He needed someone to watch Olivia. Davenport needed him to recover some intel on a missing piece of the long discovered Rambaldi journal, which required a quick daylong trip to Madrid. First he thought of his sister Jackie in New York, as his flight from LAX had a connection at JFK. Yet he knew she was in the Hamptons visiting her husband's pathetically rich and pathetically snobbish parents. His mother, active as she was, was in Boston on a mixture of business and pleasure, and for a moment he even thought of calling Alice.

Alice. Alice, who gave up her daughter the moment she was born. Alice, who made the occasional phone call and sent the annual birthday car with a twenty tucked snuggly inside, the inscription after the pre-written ditty never changing. The Alice who had only met with her daughter three occasion in her lifetime. Whose phone calls only decreased in frequency with time, who child support checks were never needed. [AN: I have no proof whatsoever that Alice was this evil…it just helps the story..I'll shut up now]

But before he could stop himself he pulled out the student roster for the preparatory school Olivia attended and begun dialing the number stated after Hecht, Sydney, work. He bit his lip as the phone rang and was answered after the third ring. "Hello?"

Vaughn froze. Should I hang up? He thought. Shut up. What are you, twelve? Say something, anything!!! "Hello?"

"Um, hi Mrs. Hecht, this is Michael Vaughn, Olivia's father."

"Hi! And please, its Sydney."

He gulped. "Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"No, not at all. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Well, actually there is something. I'm sorry, I normally don't do this. Its just that my sister's with the in-laws and my mother's out of town on business and Alice-well Alice is Alice. I was wondering if Olivia could stay with you Wednesday night. I have to go to Madrid on business so I'll be back Thursday night at the latest. If you can't its perfectly understandable-"

"Michael, don't worry about it. I'll pick up Olivia afterschool on Wednesday. Have fun in Madrid."

And before he knew what he was getting himself into he found himself paired up with the mother of his daughter's best friend in a premeditated trap to double date with his high school best friend and his wife. He sighed and checked himself out in the mirror, running his fingers through his hair. His attire was simple yet elegant. Dressed in all black, he wore a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and long black slacks, his eyes blazing a bright hazel against the dark material. He hadn't noticed Olivia standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smug smiled plastered on her face.

"You look great, Dad," she replied, moving into the room to stand behind him.

"Are you sure you don't mind me doing this?" he asked, a concerned fatherly look on his face. She laughed and pushed him towards the door. 

"Of course I don't mind. Now, if we don't get out of here immediately and you're late, then I'll be royally pissed." He chuckled and ruffled the back of her curls.

"Lets go then," he replied and they were on their way.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He's not gonna show, Sydney thought to herself. Calm down, another voice inside her replied calmly. It's only two minutes to seven thirty. What are you getting so worked up about, anyway? I thought you didn't want to date. She crumbled at her own rational thoughts and ran her finger through her curls, bouncing them upward to give them the body they didn't need. She had chosen her attire carefully, finally settling on the outfit Francie chose. It was a beautiful scarlet number, thin strapped, its hem ending tastefully mid-thigh. Her brown locks chose that day to be as unruly as ever, yet they finally settled themselves down in gently curls that barely past her shoulder. White strappy open-toed heels boosted her height up two inches.

"Oh Syd you look amazing," Francie whispered in awe from behind her. Sydney smiled into the mirror, looking down at the vanity before her.

"Seriously, Mom, you're a knockout," Laura replied, entering the room moments later."Are you okay, Mom?"

Sydney reached over and gently stroked her daughter's cheek, wrapping her in a gentle embrace. "You're not cheating on Dad by doing this. He understands." Both adult women chuckled as the doorbell rang.

"Dry those tears babe, Prince Charming's here!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They had decided on a quaint Italian restaurant right off the Santa Monica promenade. Its outdoor canopy was built of sturdy rafters, vines of ivy and white lights strung around and about the thick slabs of wood. It had been abnormally warm for the season, yet nothing was too abnormal for Los Angeles. Due to the sudden change in weather it seemed that the entire population had gather in the small café-like restaurant. The inside tables were deserted and a small classical group had assembled outside to serenade the eating couples. 

Their reserved table was waiting for them, tucked in its own corner. They sat and order a bottle of white wine and began the small talk. It turned out that Charlie and Michael had gone to high school together and kept in touch ever since, until they recently lost touch. Their stories of mischief and trouble lit Sydney's face with none stop smiles as she tried to picture the handsome green eyed man before her as the king of pranks. His smiled was demure and gentle, yet something about it just soothed her.

After they ordered their food, the band began to strike up a couple of fairly recent tunes. Francie grabbed her husband by the arm and yanked him out onto the dance floor as they watched from their seats, merely buskin in each other's company. As the piano began to play the open chords to a familiar tune he stood and extended his hand to her. 

"May I have this dance?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sydney stood and accepted his extended hand, her knees trembling underneath the tablecloth. He led her slowly out in midst the other couples, twirling her around until she settled into his arms. My God, she thought to herself, her breath catching in her throat. I never realized how green those eyes were. Their shade captivated her and eased her qualms as the young woman at the piano began to sing her song.

Spend all you time waiting

For that second chance,

For a break that would make it okay,

There's always some reason

To feel not good enough

And it's hard at the end of the day

I need some distraction,

Oh beautiful release,

Memory seep from my veins,

Let me be empty 

And weightless and maybe

I'll find some peace tonight.

__

She felt her eyes slowly begin to cloud over with tears as each note ripped straight through her emotions and hit her in the heart. A good-sized lump began to form in her throat that she repeatedly tried to swallow down to no avail. She shut her eyes and felt a tear fight its way through her closed lashes, lightly dampening her check.

In the arms of an angel

Fly away from here

From this dark cold hotel room

And the endlessness that you feel

You were pulled from the wreckage

Of your silent reverie

You're in the arms of the angel

May you find some comfort here

__

He knew the moment he felt the tiny drop on his shoulder that she was crying. She tensed in his loose grip, her hand growing stiff in his. He knew it was the first time she had been in the arms of another man in close to twelve years, and he knew what it felt like to lose someone that close to him. He gave here hand a supporting squeeze and continued to let the music lead them around the floor.

So tired of the straight line

And everywhere you turn

There's vultures and thieves at your back

And the storm keeps on twisting

You keep on building the lie

That you make up for all that you lack

It don't make no difference

Escaping one last time

It's easier to believe

In this sweet madness,

Oh this glorious sadness

That brings me to my knees.

The squeeze in her palm made her smile. She knew he understood and she took comfort in his embrace. It was gentle, yet protective, perfect if possible. Her hand lay nestled in his and his hand had an electric touch at the small of her back. They swayed together, their movements trimmed with an involuntary chemistry and charm that made the others on the floor watch. 

In the arms of an angel

Fly away from here

From this dark cold hotel room

And the endlessness that you feel

You were pulled from the wreckage

Of your silent reverie

You're in the arms of the angel

May you find some comfort here.

_It was then and there that she let go. She let go of the past and the blame she held against herself for a death she couldn't help. She was in the arms of a man who knew why she pulled back and understood. She slid closer into his embrace and stared straight into his kind eyes. Danny had sent her an angel._

-----

Okay, so there it is. Long, yes I know…I intended to make it longer but it can wait for the next chapter. Keep the reviews coming…lest I shall be forced to hold the chapters hostage(yes they're written, just not typed…all I can say is insomnia is a great writing force) Thanks for the support!

~LuLu


	4. Hidden Lives

Well here it is. Chapter 4…same rules apply, expect I'm just throwing some actual work in for them…trust me it's all for the sake of the story line… read, review, enjoy and tell me what you think or you don't get more!!!

~ PG…several naughty words…let's just say I've had a bad day and took it out on my keyboard :D

~ Sadly, their not mine…they belong to that genius over at ABC…what's that you say? You don't believe me?…

~ Feedback is craved: little_pink_monkeys64@hotmail.com

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Angel~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By: Lulu

Chapter IV: Hidden Lives

__

After departing the restaurant, all four decided that a walk was in order. The stars had been polishing their luster over the many stormy nights and shown brightly that night, beaming with a pride that radiated on everyone down below. Francie and Charlie moved ahead at a steady pace, their friends lagging several paces behind as they turned onto the wooden pier. The blinding lights of the boardwalk ahead and the buzz of the families that swarmed passed them comforted both as they both mechanically down the thick tightly placed planks, moving over to the railing away from the comfortable chaos.

"It's a gorgeous night," Sydney replied. He nodded, cocking his head upward. The pale light of the full moon reflected off the crashing waves, and the stars twinkled their shadows brightly in his eyes.

"Absolutely brilliant." A silence lapsed over them as he continued to gaze up at the velvety sky. She found her eyes glued down to her nimble fingers that griped the thick wood of the railing, flexing the muscles.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she blurted involuntarily, biting her lip the moment the words left her mouth.

"About what?"

"I haven't been much company. It's been a while, that's all."

He smiled gently, sticking his hands into his pockets. "Perfectly understandable. I've seen what that can do to someone." His gaze remained where it had been all along, his eyes entranced by the glowing beauties above. Sydney smiled and moved closer to him so that their arms pressed together. She placed her hand atop his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Thank you."

He cocked his head in her direction, his eyes finally breaking their gaze and meeting hers. A sea of deep emerald had flooded them, a twinkle present. His hand remained under hers, his attentive gaze drawing a blush onto her cheeks. "For what?" he replied, laughing at himself for his own absent-minded state.

"For the best time I've had in a while. I usually feel restricting when they drag me with them. My work doesn't let me get out much."

"What do you do, if I may ask?"

"I'm a banker. They've always got me going either to Europe or down to San Diego." Gone were the days where she was surprised at how easily the lie slipped from her lips. "Speaking of traveling, how was your trip to Madrid?"

"Inspirational," the sarcastic side of him blurted as he rolled his eyes sky high. She laughed and shook her head. "Thank you again, so much for watching Olivia. Don't think I could have gone without it. My boss was about to offer to watch her." At the same time they both pictured their children with their prospective bosses and were swallowed by a fit of non-stop giggles. _Sloane, with a child? _ She thought, pausing in effort to try and suppress her laughs.

Another silence filled the holes of their small talk, yet they took comfort in its warm presence. Vaughn moved his hand down to his side. Hers followed, their fingers simultaneously intertwining. She stepped in closer and rested her head on his shoulder. He sighed and peered up at the dark drapery of sky lain out before them all.

"See that star?" He formed an L with his left forefinger and thumb, placing it by her lashes to single out a tiny yet resilient star to the west of the North Star. "When my parents got married my father named a star after her. His wedding present, you could say. Mon Belle."

"My beauty," Sydney whispered. "How do you top that?"

"Trust me, he always found a way. He named one after each of us when we were born…at least after Jackie and I. We named one after Olivia. When he died we had to do our best to fill in the void he left. Liv helped us fill that when she was born, but nothing was the same for my mother. She still refuses to look at that star-" His voice trailed off as he turned away from her and withdrew his hand from hers. When their eyes met again the empty look that was just there had been dissolved by a bright smile.

"Enough of my sob story," he replied. "I think we should join them," he said, offering his arm. "They might get suspicious.

"We should do this again," she whispered, her trained lips barely moving as their jovial friends approached.

"Absolutely."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the beginning, he was all field, and one of their best. His strategy had saved his neck from a myriad of near endings to his boring accountant's life. He constantly fought the plans of his handlers, claiming to have better ideas. And he was usually right. He was on a never-ending streak of winds that seemed to take the challenge out of the job that he loved. Then something happened that wasn't expected, something that changed him forever. Fatherhood.

Olivia was a surprise twist in the divorce. From the moment of that first ultrasound, he knew he had fallen hard and there was no way that he'd give up without a fight. What had surprised him most was she hadn't contested his actions.

Before he could even open his mouth Olivia's godfather had pulled some strings. All the right one, apparently. Devlin transferred him to Operations, a position at the junior officer level, personally delivering him to himself. Here he would be out of harm's way, in a job that insured he could go home to his daughter at night. And he had been there ever since.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sydney strode through the front doors of Credit Dauphine with a carefree feeling rushing through her veins. She had buried some of the emotional baggage that had been carried around with her for the past five years, and she had to admit it. Closure felt good.

She moved through the rows of desks in a black turtleneck and matching skirt, black heels clicking to voice her steps. She smiled and nodded to each of the SD-6 personnel, taking a thin manila folder from the new gray-eyed redhead recruit, continuing her stride until the doors of the conference room had closed behind her.

"Dixon, Marshall," she replied, setting the folder down on the polished wood, pulling out a chair.

"Looks like someone got up on the right side of someone else's bed today," Dixon remarked, a smile and a wink sent in Marshall's direction. The quizzical look on her face brought smiles to both their faces as he began to explain. "You look good. You're almost glowing."

"I'm glowing?" she squeaked, hand over her mouth in a meek effort to stifle the surprise in her voice.

"Glowing? Yes your definitely glowing, there's definitely a shine there. Yup, like a glowing shine. Not that your face is oily, of course not, your face is perfect, you have great skin-I just-" Marshall paused mid sentence, thinking of a way to save himself as Sloane joined them. He smiled as he made his way to the head of the table, swinging his briefcase onto the glassy smooth surface.

"Good morning people," he replied, removing a file and tossing it down in front of him. He paused, cocking his head to the side as he glanced from Sydney to Dixon to Marshall. "You look good, Sydney," he spoke, smiling as he sat down, reclining in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

She felt the blush rise in her cheeks as the eyes of each man present began to bore into her. She peered intently as the black screen before her was flooded with stark color as an image popped up before her. Her eyes squinted in an attempt to read the small letters neatly scrawled onto the faded parchment displayed.

"Parchment?"

"Vellum, actually," Sloane replied. "Faded vellum. A passage from Milo Rambaldi's journal where he briefly describes having encountered and cured a strange lump he discovered in his niece's lymph node. It states that he removed it via dissection. There's a sketch on the next page of what he found." The screen flashed to another piece, the drawing there appearing to be a detailed impression of a large mass of tissue with long tentacle like arms protruding.

"Is that…"

"Yes, that's a tumor. He analyzed it and realized that if he fed the cells it would continue to grow and multiply. About a month later the little girl died unexpected. With his sister's permission he performed an autopsy and discovered yet another tumor in her brain. By the time he had removed it and fed it with the necessary nutrients it had grown from the size of an orange to the size of a large grapefruit. After about a week of experimenting with it the mass failed to continued mitosis and died."

"So your saying Rambaldi found a cure for cancer?"

"Apparently so. According to analysis the exact coordinates of the formula's location are engraved in a rare coined composed completely of pure lead, tinted gold. The coin is now in the possession of a young heiress living outside Cherbourg who is throwing a large ball in honor of her engagement to the son of one of the old noble families in France. It is your job to retrieve the coin. Marshall…"

"Oh right that's me!" He said, scrambling from his seat. Sydney smiled and bit down on her lips to fight the laugh that wanted to be voiced. "Well I'll make this quick, I know we all want to get home so here goes. See this? Looks like an average antique compact right? Well its obviously not otherwise I wouldn't be showing it to you…anyway pop it open and just dust the concealer over the vault's keypad and your in. They won't suspect a thing-it goes on light and natural so it'll look like it just got a shine. And here…this earrings are for you," he replied, opening a black velvet box to reveal a pair of amazing diamond droplets. "It's an ear piece for you to communicate with Dixon, and you can use the backs to open the glass case that holds the coin. And this is the replacement coin. It looks exactly the same, expect for the dull tint. They won't be able to tell the difference."

"You leave tomorrow night."

---

k that's it….enjoy and give me my feedback….5 is coming!!!


	5. Air Traffic

Yes, your eyes aren't deceiving you. This is indeed Chapter 5. I apologize for the wait but I've pretty much been living in my books for the past week and a half-finals are this coming Tuesday and I feel pretty prepared so I'm spitting out the latest installment, hopefully followed but the next very soon. However I warn you the next two chapters will be short because Ch. 7 will be a biggie…so stay tuned and thanks for all the feedback, and keep it coming!

~G, I would think

~ Unfortunately I lack the genius and the rights to own these characters…please don't sue me :D

~ Feedback is always appreciated: little_pink_monkeys64@hotmail.com

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Angel~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter V: Air Traffic

By: Lulu

The phone rang loudly, its whistle hardly piercing the traffic of the Bradley International Terminal at LAX. She looked up from the weathered page she had been reading intently and met Dixon's laughing eyes as the entire terminal fumbled for their cell phones. She sighed and dug into the hidden recesses of her purse, a smug smile on her face as she pulled forth her wailing phone. The others around her grumbled and returned to their previous activities.

"Hello?" She listened intently in the background, and her ears were met with the loud buzz of the French language being spoken in the caller's environment. A man mumbled something, his voice quick and deft before it was directed towards the mouthpiece of the phone.

"How's Bradley treating you?" The smile on her face grew large as the familiar voice of Michael Vaughn reached her ears. It had been several days since they last spoke on the phone and the sound of his voice was an odd comfort that she couldn't explain to herself.

"It's crowded as hell. You can barely hear yourself think. What I can do you for?"

"Unfortunately, nothing. Unless you can think of a way to get me out of this meeting. But you could have dinner with me when we get back."

"We?"

"Yes. I'm in New York, and hopefully soon I'll be back on my way back to my sister's."

"Of course."

"You can get me out of this meeting?"

She laughed and shook her head. "No. I'll call you when I get back."

"Dinner tomorrow night, then?"

"I wouldn't miss it for anything."

"Damn-I've got to go-I'll talk to you later, Syd."

"Bye." Her hand lingered, the phone pausing mid air before it was returned to its place back in her purse. She looked over at Dixon, who had put down his paper long ago and was watching her intently. "What?"

"I take it that was your new mystery man."

"He's no mystery, Dixon. He's single, he's an accountant, and his daughter is Laura's best friend."

"Well I'd hope he was single." His answer was responded with a playful sock in the arm. "As long as he makes you happy I'm not complaining. I haven't seen you this way since-"

She bit her lips and hung her head in defeat as he continued. "C'mon, Sydney, it's been five years. You can't keep blaming yourself for a death you couldn't help. It was just his time, Syd. No one could see it coming, and carrying the blame any longer won't do you or your kids any good."

She looked up at him and opened her mouth to protest, the speech already prepared in her mind. But what came out instead was something that surprised both of them. "You know what? You're right. As long as he makes me happy. I haven't known him for long but he already does, you know? He can just relate to what I'm feeling and you should see him with his daughter-I just-"

"Calling Flight 257 to Cherbourg, boarding will now commence. Flight 257 will now commence." She sighed and stood, cradling her mother's book and her ticket in her hand as she stood and followed Dixon to the flight attendant that was taking boarding passes. 

"Thank you, Ms. Jones. Have a nice flight!" Sydney smiled brightly and thanked her, taking her ticket. She had an odd feeling that it was going to be a long trip. But she couldn't wait to get back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They called him early the morning before and told him to take his daughter to LAX and board a flight to John F. Kennedy at noon. The next morning after he made sure he was safe he was to meet an Agent Williams on a quaint 5th avenue café to discuss an operation.

Then they turned the tables on him. A man named Milo Rambaldi had apparently discovered a cure for cancer. In the 14th century. And according to CIA intel he had also stumbled upon a formula that could mutate a person's DNA and activate the cancer gene. They were analyzing a copy of the coin that contained the formula's location coordinates, and he had been hand picked by Devlin to retrieve the formula. He was scheduled to recover the papers on Wednesday, exactly five days from then.

On a mere whim he had excused himself and moved inside to call her. An unknown force led his fingers to punch the proper digits to her cell phone, as he knew that she was leaving for France that afternoon. It had been only a couple of days since they last talked but he needed to talk to her again. So he did.

Vaughn accepted the mission as it was presented to him. After all, what harm ever came from recovering a few sheets of molded paper?

--

Well I told you it would be short. You might be able to guess what might happen, but I'm going to indulge all shippers out there with a nice night out before we hit Angst City. Keep the feedback coming!


	6. Lost

Here goes my attempt at yet another installment…thanks for the reviews from everyone! This contains a little indulgence for all my fellow shippers and surprise that we all knew was coming…stay tuned! The truth is reveal to both parties and all bets are off….

~PG-13 

~ Don't own 'em, and unfortunately never will…

~ Screw diamonds…feedback is a girl's best friend! Little_pink_monkeys64@hotmail.com (wait did I just say screw diamonds?)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Angel~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By: Lulu

Chapter VI: Lost

The woman in the mirror was different. She was posed, confident, elegant. Her mere reflection gave off a certain aura that didn't seem to quite reach her eyes. She was a stranger, a captive in a skin that seemed to make her quiver. Everything about her, everything around her seemed as if it was meant to accent her every trait, her every flaw. This woman appeared lost, misguided. This woman was a stranger.

The dark sapphire eyes that peered back at her were glassy and blank: the dark auburn hue of her bouncy curls glimmering against the dim light. A strapless navy gown hugged her figure and seemed to flow down to her strappy shoes. A light dusting of makeup brought out the natural beauty that seemed to seep out through her pores. 

She knew what she had to do. It was as simple as some missions went. Her alias had been chosen well with care, as the soon to be Noelle de Evermond hadn't seen her former schoolmate 'Nadia Christonoff' and was most likely to be so wrapped up in a lover's glow to notice several subtle things. Her 'friend' was right-handed, as opposed to the characteristically left-handed original, among many other things. She was to sneak away from the reveling frenzy and retrieve the coin from the vault, which she was told was hidden in the nursery that housed their hostess's sleeping niece and nephew.

"Don't worry, you'll knock them dead," Dixon replied, breaking through her haze. She jumped as his voice reached her ears as it sounded out loudly from the diamond droplets that hung from her earlobes. She leaned over the front seat and planted a kiss on his cheek, smiling brightly.

"Thanks. I'll be back."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Nadia? Is that you?" A deep voice crooned the moment she stepped inside the ballroom. The smile that grew on Sydney's face was not forced as a tall elegant blonde rushed forward, throwing her arms about her. A gentle wave of sweet perfume washed over them both as they pulled back. There was a familiar glint in those deep gray eyes that brought some sort of comfort to her.

"Noelle Delorme! It's been so long," she replied, remembering to add a bit of a Russian accent to her well-trained French. She took that time to complement the bride on her ring, which sported a rather large diamond that could shame every wealthy diva in Beverly Hills. _There's no way in hell that's a stone-it's a goddamn rock, _she thought to herself as Dixon's whistling rang in her ears with every flash of the diamond trimmed with gold, emeralds and a single ruby.

"Please, darling, let's stick to English-I've been in France for so long I'm starting to miss it! Have you been back to visit lately?" _What?!_ Sydney's inner voice cried out with anguish, causing Sydney to force the red wine down her throat, almost choking.

"Hold on Syd," Dixon mumbled, the sound of papers rummaging about ringing through her ears. "Okay, Noelle Delorme and Nadia Christonoff both attended an all girls Catholic school in Pasadena, California. After graduation Nadia moved to St. Petersburg after being recruited by the Russian Ballet-she married a young Russian-American lawyer and is now pregnant with their second child. They live in New York where she dances at the American Ballet Theatre."

"Not as much as I would like…unfortunately the ABT has me on a short leash."

"And where's that dashing husband of yours?"

"Nik is at home with Anna…he had to stay on business and figured it would be easier to stay at home with her," She replied after being supplied with the correct intel on her alias' husband and daughter.

The conversation continued in a similar fashion, full of small talk and brief details on the parts of each other's lives they had missed. Noelle was marrying a tall, dark and handsome heir to an ancient duchy who had a heart the size of his trust fund, and he seemed completely enamored with his fiancé. The entire room seemed enchanted by her, and she felt slightly guilty knowing she would be robbing the woman of a possession that unknown to her was entirely priceless.

The woman excused herself briefly and fluttered off like a social butterfly to chat on the recent past. She smiled as she watched her leave, nodding to others that smiled her way. "She's a nice woman," Sydney said through a teeth-clenched grin. "Too bad we're robbing her." A shrill laugh rang into her ears as she set her glass of red wine on a nearby table.

She moved away from the reveling crowd and began to make her way out the open door of the ballroom. She was almost home free until a voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Where do you think you're going?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sydney's voice cracked into a piercing staccato as her feet planted her firmly there where she stood. "Excuse me?" She whirled around to see Noelle, arms crossed, her toe tapping impatiently. 

"Where do you think you're going, Mademoiselle? My niece has been in the trade for years and absolutely couldn't believe you were my best friend in high school-so basically I'll be the worst aunt on earth if I don't introduce you." 

The relief flushed through her body as she plastered a fake smile onto Nadia's face. She laughed the stress out of her as she nodded and swallowed to respond. "Of course. I was just slipping out to powder my nose-and I haven't been feeling well lately-" she ended, leaving the rest up to the hostess's imagination. Noelle grinned and winked before scuttling off to retrieve her niece.

"That was close," Dixon muttered. _Too close_ she thought to herself. But the feeling that coursed from her head to her toes as she was almost caught was nothing compared to the surprise and shock she was about to feel.

"Nadia Christonoff? This is my niece, Olivia Vaughn. She flew in last minute for the party because my brother couldn't be here. Liv, this is my friend Nadia." 

--

__

Okay, see now this would technically be the perfect place to stop and leave you hanging on by a thread…I was going to cut it off here but I don't think I'm **that** cruel so I'll just shut now and let you finish…happy reading! :D

--

The moment those striking green eyes met hers her heart dropped down to her knees and her stomach flew up into the back of her mouth. She plastered a grin on her face, forcing her emotions to stay neutral. The adrenaline was pumped full blast through all her veins, coursing through her body at a speed that made her uncomfortable.

"A pleasure, sweetheart," she managed, reaching forward to shake her head and plant a delicate kiss on each of her cheeks. The girl stopped, cocking her head to the side as she examined her would be idol before shaking off whatever had puzzled her. The preteen squealed in delight and began to rave about 'her' dancing, talking endlessly of how she had been inspired by this Russian alias. She went on to say how she took up dancing because of her namesake who also idolized Nadia, who apparently according to both Olivia and Noelle had met her the year of she died.

Finally calming down she stepped back a bit and watching the dazzling brunette before her. Whether it was the way her eyes twinkled when she smiled or the way she talked with her hands, something reminded her of Michael Vaughn. As much as she tried to reprimand herself she felt a part of herself long to hear his voice once more.

Dixon cleared his voice loudly, the sound making her jump as it filtered up into her ears. Both Noelle and Olivia stared at her with peculiar looks laced over their faces, exchanging bewildered looks. A hand flew to her mouth as she looked to the door anxiously.

"If you would excuse me-where could I find the washroom?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

" You okay, Syd?" Dixon asked as she maneuvered down the convoluted hallways. Both in the ballroom she left behind had assumed that she was expecting another and directed her to the bathroom, nearly refusing to leave her alone until she forcibly pushed them back towards the party. 

"Yeah I'm fine. Why?"

"You seemed a little tense back there." She paused at a door to her right, pressing her ear against it.

"Well you remember that guy I was telling you about? That girl Olivia is Laura's best friend. That's his daughter." Silence covered them and she could swear that she heard him snickering. "Dixon you really have to work on your lying. Is this the room?"

With her question she pushed the wooden door open, her eyes enveloped by striking tones of cream and pastel green plastered on each wall in alternating stripes. The spacious nursery was a perfectly proportioned three walled room, complete with three cribs doting two boys and a girl. The white chiffon curtains that trimmed each of the room's three windows fluttered slightly with the gentle draft that blew through. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, careful not to rouse the sleeping infants. There were three paintings, each equally spaced masterpieces that made the room ever more enchanting. Moving forward into the room, she stepped over scattered toys and through the loop of an extensive train track. In the east was a large doll house, tucked into the protective nook that the corner provided.

"Alright, Syd. It's on the west wall. According to the map it should be the third green strip from the corner."

"The Van Gogh?"

"Yes. It swings forward from the right." She ran a long nimble finger down the side of the golden frame, reaching her fingers underneath it and pulling outwards. The frame swung out before her, revealing a blunt ending to the alternating wallpaper. A stark square of iron stared back at her, posing as background for the gold nine-digit keypad. 

"Tsk tsk. You think with all that money they have they'd at least give it a little shine from time to time." Removing the ornate antique compact from her purse she quickly scanned herself, powdering her own nose before dusting it over the keys. Seconds later she had removed one of her diamond droplets, using the back to pry open the case that held the priceless coin. 

After she had placed the fake in it's counterpart's niche and replaced the frame, she bent over the nearest crib, stroking a stray lock into place from the middle of the baby girl's forehead. "Sleep tight angels," she crooned, taking a last look at the sleeping babes she paused to dust a flustered look on her face, examining her appearance in the "compact" before ducking back into the party.

With the coin safe in the breast of her dress her mind relaxed. She allowed herself to relax into the role she played. Her mind wandered as she wrapped herself up in the moment. But the night wound down, and one thing was for certain. 

She couldn't wait to get home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He sighed, his eyes squinting down to penetrate the thick veneer that the Merlot laced about the rim of the goblet. It had been an interesting week, but nothing compared to the anticipation he had for the night ahead. Nearly forty-eight hours prior he had sent his eleven-year-old daughter on a direct flight to Cherbourg-alone-to make it in time for his kid sister's engagement party. 

The enormous amount of guilt that ate at his conscious haunted him as he tried to sleep the night before. He had barely made Jackie's wedding rehearsal; he had missed the first act in Olivia's first performance with the ABT and he hadn't been there when Tyler scored the goal that won his hockey team the state title. And now he was missing Noelle's engagement party.

He knew he was over exaggerating. But he also heard the disappointment in her voice when he told her Olivia would be coming alone. "It's work, right?" she asked, reprimanding him as he tried to explain himself. Of course it was work. It was always work.

Nobody knew what he really did. They thought he was an investment accountant that spent many long hours slaving away to the countless needs of California's wealthiest corporations. He was pretty sure they would never know he was really Agent Michael Vaughn of the Central Intelligence Agency of America, and one of their best at that. 

Of course they didn't know. 

They couldn't know.

Their lives counted on it.

"This seat taken?" a female voice crooned into his ear. The smile grew on his face as he stood to find Sydney Hecht posed before him, a matching grin on her face. They danced around each other a bit, unsure on the proper greeting until he leaned in and wrapped her in a tight embrace. 

He pulled back, examining her as she unraveled herself from his clutches. She hadn't changed from her gray business suit, its gentle cream blouse standing out bluntly. Her chestnut curls were parted at the side and pull up off of her neck; traces of stress had etched themselves in her deep brown irises. But something in her smile brought a comfort to him. Maybe it was the twin dimples that sunk in with each laugh, or the way her eyes seemed to twinkle with each grin. 

"Please. Mademoiselle, would you care to join me for this grand feast?" He replied, adding a ridiculous French accent to his words. She giggled and followed him as she was led to her seat, which was held out and pushed in the moment she sat. 

Had she just giggled? 

Didn't only lovesick teenagers laugh like that? 

Her eyes followed him as he retreated to his side of the table, taking the chilled bottle of the wine in both hands, leaning over the table so she had a clear view of the label. A gentle wave of cologne and aftershave washed over her, mixed with a scent that she couldn't place, something sweet and uniquely his. He poured the bottle's contents into the goblet near her plate and held it out to her for a taste, only returning to his seat after she winked at him in approval. 

"I could get used to this treatment," she replied coyly, a laugh dancing in her eyes as she drew her napkin down to her lap. 

Was that a blush she saw rise in his cheeks? 

They sat together in companionable silence, scanning the menus presented to them earlier by the maitre 'd, sipping the wine he had tastefully chosen for the night. Every now and then she would sneak another look at him over the top of the crisp pages, examining him as if he was a painting in a gallery. 

How was it that he could make a three-piece business suit look so good? 

She took that moment to notice that neither one of them had changed out of their business clothing. 

" How was France?" He asked, his words breaking through her haze. She met his eyes and smiled. 

"Beautiful. It's been a while since I'd been to Cherbourg." _At least I'm sure it was beautiful,_ she thought to herself. Her mine was too preoccupied with the mission to bask in the captivating scenery that lined the road to the Evermond manor. 

"You were in Cherbourg? I wish I would have known-my sister's living there. In fact she had her engagement party last night." 

"Really?" she replied, feigning the surprise she had felt the night she ran into his daughter. "There was news of a marriage into some of the old blue blood, but that's about it," she replied, hoping the lie rolled smoothly off her tongue. He raised his glass, swallowing the wine still left in his mouth. 

"That would most likely be my sister. Noelle's marrying this kid who's worth about a hundred a year." 

"Hundred thousand?" 

"Hundred million-and those were last year's stats. I've been so busy at work that I've hardly had the time to be the older overprotective brother I always am and look him up. But yeah, that was my kid sister, soon to be duchess. I just hope I'll be able to get off for the wedding." 

"When is it?" she inquired, taking a sip of her wine. 

"In just about five months-the sixth of July. We're usually busy as hell around then-they use that time to recruit the kids fresh out of grad school. You'd be surprised at all the would be analysts and accountants we look at." _You'd also be surprised to know that they're no where near being accountants or analysts, _he also thought to himself, not daring voice his thoughts out loud. 

The thick silence that was laced over the space between them was stifling, unlike the warm quiet present just moments ago. Both examined the menus before them with a false interest that was a result of years of experience. Both were silently suffocated as the air between them thickened, only to be broken as their waitress came to take their orders. 

"And for the Mrs.?" she inquired, peering over at Sydney inquisitively. She felt a blush rise in her cheeks as she opened her mouth to reprimand him. 

"We're not married," both Sydney and Vaughn blurted at the same time, arousing a slight chuckle from the teenager taking their order. She gave the girl her order, eyes firmly planted on the pristine white plate before her. She wouldn't dare looking up at him, for fear of the look in those beautiful green eyes. She knew that if she did she would most likely start laughing and never stop. 

"Maybe you should be," the waitress mumbled under her breath. With a bright smile she took their menus, she spoke directly to them. "My name is Ellie and I'll be your waitress for the evening. Let me know if there's anything I could do to make your dining here with us more enjoyable." 

In the wake of her footsteps both coughing, overcome by a fit of laughter of which neither knew the source. Sydney felt her blush go into full swing, her cheeks burning, her eyes laughing hysterically as her face tried to remain stoical. 

"Are we that obvious?" he asked her, which suppressed another wave of laughter from both parties. 

"I guess so," she replied, grinning from ear to ear. 

As the night progressed and wound down, she found the same smile creeping onto her face, dimples shown, ivory teeth flashing. Everything he said or did brought up the most insane smiles that felt foreign, yet strangely exhilarating. This was only her second date with him, a total of maybe eight hours at the most when she felt as if she had known him all her life. Something about in those deep green eyes or in that warm smile that could melt her in seconds. 

The world could crumble and she wouldn't notice.

She was lost in those incredible eyes.

And if she never found herself she wouldn't care. 

--

This chapter was getting too long for my taste, so I've split the surprise up into two chapters…read on and see what I've written for ya…thanks for the great reviews and keep them coming!  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Drip. Drip. Drip.

All right this time the truth is reveal…scouts honor…read on and tell me what you think. I'm introducing another character of my own invention to feed the story line-trust me it's a piece of the puzzle-it'll make sense in the end-thanks for the reviews

~ PG

~ Feedback is to the writer as food is to the body: little_pink_monkeys64@hotmail.com

~ If I owned them you'd probably see my kooky ideas on TV-look just please don't sue me

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Angel~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By: Lulu

Chapter VII: Drip. Drip. Drip

__

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip.

The sound of a leaking faucet was all that could be hear. The drops of water splashed down to the pavement, echoing down the labyrinth of convoluted hallways and corridors. Its rhythm was constant, the steady drip long, expecting, torturous. It's vibration cried out to them tauntingly, teasing them with as each tear of water fell to the concrete.

Neither even dared to breathe.

****

8 hours earlier

The steady tap of the ballpoint pen's tip was the only sound that pierced the silence that had enveloped the conference room. Sydney's chin rested in the palm of her left hand, which was held taut by her propped up elbow. Her eyelids fluttered open every few seconds before resuming their current closed position. Across the table from her, Dixon's eyes glared down at her tapping hand, squinting dangerously. At the other end to the table Marshall lounged back in his chair, drumming his hands on the polished wood to the beat of the music that blasted in his headphones.

"Is it your goal to drive me insane?" Dixon grumbled, reaching across the table and snatching the pen from between her fingers. Instantly Sydney's eyes flew open and she frowned, grasping at the air to grab it back. "I take it you didn't get much sleep last night," he replied coyly, grinning.

"Haha. I slept like a baby, thank you very much. My nerves are exhausted. I just want to get this mission over with and take a really long vacation."

"Sorry I'm late people," Sloane stated, making his long awaited entrance into the conference room. Both partners straightened out and Marshall shot up, quickly removing the headset from his ears with shocking speed. Sydney bit back a laugh as he almost flew out of his seat, gripping the edge of the table to keep balance. 

She returned her attention to Sloane, curious, as he appeared disheveled and off guard. His pupils were smaller than pebbles of sand and the whites of his eyes were worse then coffee stains. There was something labored about his breath and Sydney noticed a small, healing cut at the base of his ear. Her eyes perked at the tiny detail, wondering what could have possibly been the cause. She almost jumped as he straightened out and nodded towards the screen before him. 

Each monitor that lined the dark polished wood flashed in color to reveal a captivating mosaic, it's expertly cut pieces together forming one of the most magnificent scenes known to nature: a sunset. The sun was just falling behind a range of majestic mountains, and a flock of sheep was still grazing in the foothills of the mountains. One in particular was in the foreground, alone, large, its round blue eye staring eerily at her. A smile curled on Sydney's lips as she thought of what a sunset once brought her, a smile that quickly disappeared the moment she met Sloane's withered glance. 

"It's beautiful," she replied absently.

"Yes that it is. It's known as the Setting Sun, fourth in a series of five. And according to analysis this is the key to solving our current enigma in the Rambaldi puzzle. You're to leave tonight for Madrid-from there you'll connect to Malaga."

"Malaga? Didn't we retrieve the missing piece of the clock from Malaga?" Dixon questioned, his chin held up by his right hand.

"Right."

"So you're saying Rambaldi hid one of his most important discoveries in the same city as he hid a piece of his clock?" Sydney asked, eyebrow quirked curiously.

"Yes. That mosaic is in the chapel of a castle just outside the city. According to our findings by inserting the coin into the eye of the lamb we would be given access to the papers we need. Marshall?"

"Good morning, everyone. I take it we all slept well? I mean I know I did-I haven't been sleeping well lately, of course until a friend recommended some ginger chamomile tea before bed. Just a bag and some hot water and you'll sleep like a lamb-no pun intended." Dixon coughed, biting his lip as Sloane grunted to prevent Marshall from slipping even farther off of the subject. "Yes, right. Well because you'll be in a chapel I figured I'd give you this." He moved over to her side of the table and showed her a delicate pearl rosary, its luster slightly rose-colored, its cross and stoppers between the beads a stark mahogany. It was a picture of beauty that bluntly stood out against the navy velvet of its box. " Each mosaic is heavily guarded, as the chapel is one of the few in the western world that has preserved the art since its creation in the early days of the Church. See the cross? Press the bottom and out pops a small bulb. If you hold down the head of the cross a laser containing the codes will shoot out and disable the alarms on all of pieces. And tada, all you have to do is place the coin in the eye and remove the papers. Like cake, chocolate, strawberry, vanilla-whatever floats your boat."

"Assuming everything goes to plan," Sydney said softly. Sloane's eyes met hers and she looked away, a strange shiver running up and down her spine. He nodded in reply to her comment. Everything had to go to plan. It would.

Or so she thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The loud sound of a frustrated honk shook him out of his reverie. He growled angrily, ignoring the itch he had to show the agitated driver his single preferred choice of five fingers. The day had been long and hectic; when Georgia called in a long overdue favor he was more than happy to have obliged. 

That was before he got caught in an early case of rush hour.

So there he sat there, his head resting on his hands, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel with frustration. The traffic on the freeway barely left space between the bumpers. All movement had pretty much ceased as the cars moved forward at a pace that the snails rival. His eyelids fluttered shut, only to slam open as his forehead accidentally slipped down, sounding the horn.

His mind began to race rapidly as thoughts ran about his head. The CIA, Olivia, and Sydney all fought for his attention, his thoughts soon beginning to swirl together.

Olivia was safe in Manhattan. According to his sister, she had hit the sheets the moment their plane touched down from Cherbourg, completely exhausted. He knew she would be well protected underneath her aunt's wing; he knew that the time she spent with Jackie would be a nice change from years with a single father and a handful of hours with a nonexistent mother. Jackie was a beautiful, elegant and intelligent woman that, like her brother, had not fallen far from the tree. She had been recruited within a week of her brother and married yet _another_ agent, a tall, handsome New Englander named Alexander Gray whom she met while visiting her older brother in college. Not only did Lex and Jackie have Olivia carefully guarded, Michael had called and had his old buddy keep tabs on his baby girl.

Sydney. The mere thought of her released an exasperated chuckle that he hadn't known was dying to get out. Over the past two weeks that he had known her she had been an indulgence from the life he was hiding from anyone and everyone important to him. But there was something there. His gut flinched slightly every time he heard her voice, saw her face, watched her laugh. Something was off. 

But he had no idea what it was.

__

Thank you Jesus he replied as the vehicles before him slowly began rolling. As he drifted forward with them, a smile grew on his face on as the traffic dispersed. Each car passed, the lookies taking much more time than others, by the horrible twisted convoluted ball of metal that had formed as two cars had met head on. The traffic eased and soon he had sped down the flowing cars to his awaited destination.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His forest green SUV rolled to a stop, parking in front of a twisting driveway that led up to a majestic mansion teeming with cars and teenage girls. He sighed and rested the back of his head on pale leather of the headrest, shutting his eyes. He knew his next mission would be draining, especially since he hadn't been in the field for just under twelve years. He knew this must have been more important then they were told, because his agent was implicitly trusted with cases that could make or break the national security of their country. 

It seemed as if he had just shut his eyes before they flew open, jolted by the sound of tapping on his window. His eyes roved over to a tall brunette whose sapphire eyes smiled out brightly. She wore a long sleeved navy sweater vest, the crisp collar and flaps of a white Oxford shirt visible. A skirt worn just above mid-thigh revealed long legs, its plaid a mix of coffee, cream, and lines of navy and maroon. White nylon knee highs and brown Doc Martens boosted her already towering height two inches. A pair of sunglasses rested atop her head, which boasted long chocolate brown locks that tumbled down to the middle of her back. He grinned and unlocked the passenger door, reaching over to open the door as she was unable. 

As the door swung open a handful of books landed on the floor of his car with a loud thump. After shouting her last good-byes the brunette plopped down into the leather, flashing Vaughn a one dimpled smile. "Hey Mikey," she replied, leaning over to kiss his cheek gently. 

"Sash," he replied, smiling as he began to navigate his way out of the madness that surrounded them. She fiddled with the radio before slipping off her shoes and drawing her knees to her chest. 

"It's really serious, isn't it? This isn't just some cure for the flu is it?" Her comment made him jump as he began their commute homeward. 

How the hell could she always read his mind? 

He knew it wasn't just the flu. But that's what he had told her. His agent wasn't stupid. But to tell her the truth could put her in more danger than sending her to Spain. Which was why he was going with her. 

They had recruited her five years ago, in the early summer. In truth they had their eye on her the moment she came to the United States four years prior. After all, how many seven-year-olds can score a 1600 on the SATs? An American born in Russia, Anastasia Kennedy came to them as a skinny eleven-year-old who had memorized the theory of relativity years earlier. Then her IQ was estimated to have been 210; now it was steadily rising.[AN: Okay I know I'm stretching it, because Einstein's IQ was about 240, I think-why the hell else would the CIA want a minor?] 

The senior directors at Langley had mixed feelings about her. Many thought to use her as a double for K-Directorate, while others thought operations, and still more were stuck on one thing: age. Many of them had children her age, and to willing put her life at risk the way they had planned brought them all unrest. But the information she had stored in her memory was too much to risk. Had they denied her she would have gone elsewhere. 

A brilliant mind is a terrible thing to waste. 

So he had been assigned as her handler after years of discord with another agent, angry that he was stuck babysitting someone who hadn't yet hit puberty. Looks are deceiving, especially hers. While helping her train she had whooped his ass a couple more times than he'd like to admit. 

She was unsuspecting. No one knew of her intelligence. She lived the life of a spy, hidden under the elaborately woven quilt of lies that had become her life. She lived with married agents, under the prose of the orphaned sister. Underneath it all she was just a sixteen-year-old genius trying to life a normal life. High school the second time around was like a walk in the park. 

He remembered her telling him that she might go back and get another Ph.D., maybe one in psychology. 

"Michael, I know they wouldn't be sending you with me if it was a couple of asthma inhalers. I know this is serious," her words rang, breaking his foggy haze. Over time she had become like his little sister, the perfect advisor and confidante. He knew that when he heard her cursing at him in Russian she wasn't very happy, and to hear her low muttering made him frown. 

"Don't start, Sasha. You know this is important. If K-Directorate or the Alliance got a hold of this formula before we do it could be fatally dangerous. It'll give biological warfare a new name. SD-6 wants to get a hold of it and sell the vaccine, and according to intel K-Directorate is planning to inject an entire city with it and sell the cure to the highest bidder." 

"I've handled worse," she spat back at him in French. And he knew it was true. Out of the corner of his eye he could swear that he saw her grin. No matter what he said she'd always have something to challenge him with. They sighed together in unison, cerulean eyes meeting a light hazel, and smiled. It was these silent agreements that made their relationship successful, and they sat there in companionable silence as the car coasted past extravagant mansions. 

"So how was your date?" she asked, placing her shades over her eyes to guard against the setting sun. 

" Great." 

"The waitress thought you two were married, didn't she?" At that comment he turned to stare at her, momentarily loosing control as he swerved to avoid hitting the cars about them. Hysterical laughing filled the space within the SUV as she was moved to tears with her laughter. "That look was classic. Calm down, I'm not that psychic. I just heard you telling Weiss." 

He growled, a frown carving itself deep into his cheekbones. She flashed him a flawless, sparkling white grin, still chuckling. "You know they don't call me a spy for nothing." 

"Ha-_ha_" he replied, emphasizing the last syllable with bitter sarcasm. As he closed the distance between the road and home, he eased up, conversing and laughing with her. 

Many called their agent-handler relationship inappropriate. 

To them it was different. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

"Welcome to Ojos de Oro, a college preparatory for the gifted. Combining a rigorous academic schedule with an advance course in the art or field of choice we work to mold our pupils into the next generation..." a short, stumpy man named Alfonso Carillo spoke, his tongue laced with a light British lilt. On he spoke, using every adjective known to man in an effort to make his mediocre school for the wealthy appear to be a factory for producing artist and athletic prodigies. Quickly Sydney's resolve to dive full on into this case faded as her mind wandered to other things, things that didn't involved saving the world. 

Saving the world. Superman's job isn't as easy as it seemed, especially now that she had dived headfirst into it. Superman saved the world and still managed to convince the world that he was nothing but a nosy journalist. She knew this mission was important; she also knew she'd still be able to come home to a loving husband if Rambaldi's discoveries had been found just half a decade earlier [AN: Or so she thinks...]. 

She was abruptly shaken out of her reverie as Dixon gently tugged on her arm, moving her as the crowd migrated towards the direction of Carillo's voice. "Now our first stop on today's tour is the chapel, world renown for their ancient hand crafted mosaic." They stopped at the head to two large oak doors that parted and were ushered into a large chamber. Sweeping ceilings bore the faces of cherubs in an angelic scene that could rival the Sistine Chapel. The eye was enveloped in a splash of color as they moved farther into the room, a clean mossy smell wafting up into the nostrils as they proceeded to farther occupy the room. Herding around the raven-haired tour guide they stopped at the base of a tall scaffold the towered up into the farthest corners. Carillo then began his commentary, smiling at each of the would-be applicants as he spoke of the chapel's history.

"This chapel is one of the only remaining examples of the ancient art of mosaics that are still seen in the eastern city of Constantinople, present day Istanbul, Turkey. It was used during the Middle Ages as a refugee and is said to have been visited frequently by the monarch Isabella and Ferdinand of Castille, Aragon, and Leon. Yes?" he responded, nodding towards the hand raised in question.

" There are said to be a set of twelve mosaics each displaying a natural scene and a religious symbol. Here there are only eleven," asked a tall, skinny teenager that looked as if she had been plucked off of a street in the art district of SoHo. Her long raven-black hair was braided and twisted into an interesting coif that left her hair half up, the rest hanging down to the small of her back. She wore a crisp black shirt that displayed her wiry limbs and a khaki corduroy skirt that ended just above the knee. She wore knee length black boots that boosted up her height several inches, not that she needed it. But there was something about her eyes; something haunting in their blunt, stark sapphire color that made Sydney shiver. She met Sydney's gaze and smile charmingly.

"Ah, I see have a young artist in our midst. Yes, that's true, one is missing, as it has been removed as a whole and taken down for renovation." With that her heart dropped. While he had been speaking her eyes wandered the room and she took the time to acquaint herself with her surroundings, her chestnut eyes searching for the mosaic. 

"_Syd it's gone,"_ Dixon whispered, his lips pressed tightly against her ear. She cleared her throat and raised her hand, calling his attention to see if he could answer her question.

"Are all of the Sol series completed?" she inquired, knowing that their desired was a part of them.

"I'm afraid not. The Sol series are quite popular, but the one piece we are missing is the Setting Sun."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"We're screwed," Sasha whispered through her teeth, clenched in a bright characteristic smile, lacking only her dimple. She'd trained herself to smile without it, as it had become an indicator that had gotten her into more trouble than good.

"What?!" Vaughn yelled, making her jump as his loud voice rang into her ear.

"Jesus Mickey just a little louder. I don't think the people in the back heard you!" She hissed, her eyes cautiously roving the crowd to see if anyone had see her tense. It was the same as it always was, blissfully ignorant, living their lives as teachers, lawyers, or doctors. Most people her age were just trying to make it through high school. But it wasn't so bad the second time around.

After a clean sweep of the room she sighed inwardly, until her eyes did a double take. She was always one to know when someone was staring at her; her alias may have made her blend in as the perfect applicant for an art school, but the stark color of her hair made her eyes deep, leaving the viewer with an unforgettable impression. Many had involuntarily stared at her while at the airport, captivated by the shockingly dark shade of her eyes. But what she hadn't expected was to actually find a woman staring at her far after she had acknowledged her. 

But she shook the eerie feeling that coursed through her and smiled, offering a wink as she cocked her head to the side to feign interest in the man's response. She knew the piece was missing the moment they entered, yet she did not know why. 

"Ah, I see have a young artist in our midst. Yes, that's true, one is missing, as it has been removed as a whole and taken down for renovation," the reply came. She cursed and blocked out everything around her to relay the previously said message to her handler. 

She was right. They were screwed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"We're screwed," her voice rang, delivering the unexpected verdict.

"What?!" he exclaimed, instantly regretting the volume of his words. Through the camera that was expertly hidden in the heart of the charm bracelet on her wrist he saw that she jumped slightly, and winced.

"Jesus Mickey just a little louder. I don't think the people in the back heard you!" the hiss came. Again he winced, pushing the crisp white sleeves of his shirt up to the crooks of his elbows. He collapsed into the plush armchair that adorned their suite, chosen to keep up with the alias that he was accompanying his sister to check out the school for the naïve and wealthy, as their executive father could not. It was her job to scope out the chapel, and he would watch through the video camera they bugged into her bracelet. 

He placed his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hand, sighing deeply. Then he looked up at the other agents in the room, his eyes meeting Weiss's. 

"How soon can we have a van ready?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The trace had taken twenty minutes. In the said amount of time they received intel that told them the Gothic manor was built atop a labyrinth of tunnels, each connected and attainable through secret passageways scattered about the chateau. The tunnels were once used for secret rendezvous, storage, and quick shortcuts for the servants to use to get around. The present owners cut the maze up into section and gave them a more practical purpose, using and renovating a section for studios and classrooms and using the rest for maintenance. 

The extensive map was spread on the makeshift table covered every square inch of the underground maze, highlighting the rooms used as art or dance studios and those used to maintain the grounds. A good hunk of the basement was used to teach the gifted students whose parents paid way too much for the mediocre education they were given. And the classrooms were so oddly positioned and scattered that if they attempted to reach the mosaic underground there was no way that they could avoid a student.

And he was starting to believe that Sasha was right. They really were screwed.

"Couldn't we try an entrance from the southeast corner?" he blurted, breaking the silence, his eyes roving from Sasha to Weiss then back down to the map. The brunette cocked her head to the side and studied the map.

"Nope. Nice try, Mikey. The probability of success is about one in a thousand. There's only one classroom within a 500-foot radius but the security is hell. Five guards here, three over there, and four there. After a near break-in in '97 they added a new laser grid security system, but that's easier than cake to hack into. But first you have to get into the mainframe-five more guards there."

__

Damn, he cursed mentally, gripping the edge of the table with his palms and stretching down to look at the floor. Then something struck him. He bolted and moved over to the surveillance televisions set up at on the starboard side of the van, rummaging through the papers that lay scattered on the counter. A Chesire grin curled onto his face as he returned to his puzzled companions. They continued to stare strangely at him until he slapped the shocking pink flyer in his hand down before them. 

"Oh no-" Sasha stuttered as she picked up the flyer in her hands. Weiss looked over her shoulder and grinned widely. 

"Genius, man, genius," he replied in awe, slapping him on the back. 

"I just can't believe this hadn't occurred to me before-" he grinned, his smile falling as his green eyes took in the fierce frown that chiseled itself into the contours of Sasha's cheeks. 

"No no no no NO!" she yelled, crumpling the flyer before her into she sent it flying at both men. "There's no way you're getting me to go to a European rave sober. I probably won't even _stay_ sober. Have you ever been to a rave?" 

"No-" Vaughn started, eyeing Weiss curiously. 

"Well I have, and trust me it's not an experience I wish to replicate. American raves are child's play compared to the ones they have here," she shot back defensively, the frown digging deeper into her brow. 

"Sash it'll be different. I'll be in and out--just keep them occupied." She sighed, then nodded. "Fine fine. If someone slips me a mickey I'm gonna beat those dimples out of you." Both men smiled, although Vaughn inwardly winced. He knew his agent, and he knew she wasn't kidding. 

So they made their plans with haste, driving in town to pick up the proper attire. Sasha insisted that since they were going to a rave they needed "rave clothes", whatever that meant. After making the propper purchases they retreated back to the hotel suite, moving to their rooms to prep for the long night ahead. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The rave had been their last resort. Sloane had told them of the planned rave being hosted the basements of the majestic chateau, expecting them only to use it in a case of severe emergency. 

This qualified as a case of severe emergency. 

Yet the moment she set foot in the dank spirling stairwell full of teens and young adults alike she began to regret her actions. Decked out in a tight, short tank top and low riding jeans that both clung to her like a second skin, she looked like a part of the crowd, just an ordinary rich rebel out for a night of fun. Her navel sported a hoop decorating with a single crimson bead, false of course, although she once considered piercing her belly button just to see the look in her parents' eyes. Yet the most shocking change was the color of her hair. 

The color of the die itself jumped out at her from the shelf of the Spanish convienence store. Dixon chuckled and shrugged as she showed it to him, shocked when she actually bought it. The red was shocking and electric, just a bit lighter than the standard hue of tomato, slightly more pink. 

"Good luck Lola," Dixon had said, and was rewarded with a smack on the arm. But the phrase was going to grow very common to her, as once she had reached the bar she was rewarded with the same pseudonym. 

"What'll it be, Lola," the thick man replied, his voice thick and muffled by his English lilt. She grinned mockingly from behind her compact and smack her lips, spreading the lipstick that had just been applied. She winked and leaned over the counter, giving the testosterone-pumped man and eye full. 

"What kinda liquor you got back there?" She asked, loudly smacking her gum and twirling a lock on her finger. She inwardly winced, and hoped that if she ever was reduced to the rude, slutty character she played that someone would put her out of her misery. 

"An American?" he inquired, moving to get a glass. She winked at him fron behind her rose colored shades, their hue matching that of her thick locks exactly. 

"God bless America," she replied softly as he slid a glass of amber-colored liquid towards her nimble, awaiting fingers. She kissed at the air before him before waltzing off into the jumping crowd, glass in hand. Cautiously sipping, she swallowed and let it burn down her throat. She had to hand it to them-they spared no expense-and the taste of the scotch she was about to abandon proved it. _Just shows what money can buy you_, she thought, moving through the crowd, dodging the dancers, weaving in and out between the massive speakers that voiced the DJ's music of choice 

No one notice when she slipped outside the main room. Three gargantuan rooms were used, and many party goers hopped from one room to the next. She set her glass of scotch down by the doorframe, nestling it in between the empty cans of soda and beer. No one noticed when as she moved farther and farther away from the noise, but the relief her eardrums felt as the clamoring of the music subsided was well received. 

Dixon hadn't been lying when he said it was the maze that could top all mazes. If it weren't for Dixon's reassuring directions that were whispered periodically into her ear that she was able to reached the maintenance area of the large, extensive basement. Slowly the stark, pristine white of the hallways that she assumed led to classrooms had sooner or later faded into the blunt, dull gray of concrete. Bright fluorescent lights guided her down the twisting path of right and left turns. After an long trip down a long hallway, she received the surprise of a lifetime. 

A dead-end. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Her heart nearly dropped as the narrow window of distant hallway grew larger and larger. She sauntered towards it apprehensively, scared to confirm her suspicions. A blank wall stared back at her, solid and obsolete. _Oh fuck, _she cursed inwardly 

"Syd? What's wrong?" Dixon's voice asked, breaking through her haze. Had she just said that out loud? 

"D-dead e-end," she stuttered, approaching the wall before her, running her fingers about it desperately. She fondled the crevices and edges, searching for an entrance as the panic began to rise. 

"Left wall, Syd," he answered calmly. "Knock twice." She followed the orders, and the wall parted, splitting into two halves. She stepped inside, and was barely able to keep the gasp that had formed in her throat from voicing itself. 

The room she had just stumbled upon was so large that she was sure it went far past the house's perimeter. Literally everything but the kitchen sink lay on the dirt floor. Antique armchairs, majestic paintings, rusting china, exquisite jewelry-all scattered about the tall expansive room that seemed much taller than any she had been that entire night. Wait-I take that back-even the kitchen sink was held protectively between the walls of the hidden room. It's ivory was polished, the gold faucets appearing almost immaculate. The frame of an old mahogany bed held shelves and shelves of books, a pair of silk bloomers hanging from one of the four bed posts. Her eyes lit up at all the trinkets and large knick knacks that were scattered about the room. Several paint bulbs lite the room, enveloping it in a warm glow. 

__

An antiquer's haven, she thought silently, a smile curled on her face. The smile grew as she neared the end of the room. Before her stretched the captivating mosaic, the peaks of the gargantuan mountains barely visible around all the cluttered in which she tried to weave herself through. 

Finally the piles of priceless treasures slowly but surely began to lessen. The mounds of treasure began to dwindle and fade until she was face with only a rare rusty spoon or rag doll. A large, rough cream canvas lay crumpled at the base of a ladder, its rungs few in number. But the third and forth poles of wood bore the tall, thin form of a man decked out it black, his hand poised just about the eye of the massive lamb. 

The golden object twinkled, its glare reflecting off a lone mirror into her eye. 

On instinct she moved towards the ladder and with the sweep of her right leg the medieval ladder tottered, the man in black gripping the wooden sides for support. In his attempt to steady himself the coin in his hand clattered down to the floor, its sound echoing through out the room. 

She took that time to notice a faint dripping in the close distance. 

But he was far more agile than she had anticipated. He jumped from the ladder, diving to the floor and catching himself with his hands, rolling to his feet. She kicked at the back of his head as the ladder crashed to the floor, suprised even more as he held her foot in position and used the curve of his foot to hook her leg and send her flying down to the floor. 

Sydney found herself thanking her mother for forcing her into gymnastics as a child as she split her legs and used her arms to flip back onto her feet, deliever the first blow to actually touch the mystery man. He responded with a punch into her stomach that stole the breath from her nostrils. As she doubled over he moved to strike again, but was hit in a place that no man should. 

Her mother had always taught her to seize the moment, a lesson that shone through as she proceeded in thoroughly, for lack of better description, kicking his ass. But he came back and shone in his own element as his fist connected with her cheek, the pain washing over her like a gentle wave. By then they had pinned each other down, exchanging blind blows in the dark, rolling over towards the light and the clutter. 

And then she saw her saving grace. A trinket of none other than Marie Antoinette, her arm extended high and bluntly, the perfect, small statue that could actually cause some real damage. They rolled closer to it, each gaining and losing dominance over one another. Her fingers itched over to the figurine, finally grasping hold of it. But with that gain, she lost her control. 

"Come on, is that all you've got?" his husky voice breathed, as he rolled on top of her and pinned her forearms to the dirt. In other circumstances, she would have found it sexy-but now it just made him more of an asshole. She growled and brought her head up to meet his with shocking speed, butting his forehead with a force that almost knocked out the both of them. 

She rolled them into the clear light and forcefully straddled his waist, pinning an arm under his own torso and holding the other down by the wrist. Her right arm flew up, poised and ready to strike. 

She was thankful for the light, as she finally got a look at the man who would have potentially killed her. 

Michael Vaughn. 

-- 

__

sorry that took so long to get out! and i also apologize about the length and the action scene above--never been my strong point--PLEASE review, good or bad--tell me what you think! 


	8. Crumble

AN: I think I've put you through enough so I'm pretty much gunna just cut through the bullshit and let you dive right it. Its gonna stay PG-13, for now, and if you'd like to see a creative disclaimer see Ch. 1-7 [I don't own 'em, dun sue me--but Sasha and the kiddies are mine]. Please send all feedback to: little_pink_monkeys64@hotmail.com. Thanks for all the support! Read, review, and enjoy! 

P.S. I'm going to end this in several chapters; I don't really want it to swell past fifteen. So I'm going to divide it up into a trilogy:   
1. Angel   
2. The Diary   
3. Fate   
Thank you again to my faithful readers...Nic this is for you, since you've reviewed for each new chapter that I've posted. 

PPS. If anyone knows a good beta reader, I'm in dire need; any recommendations are greatly appreciated. Thanks! 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Angel~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter VIII: Crumble

By: Lulu   
  
  


Time froze. Time put itself on hold, and she could have sworn that the obnoxious ticking of the grandfather clock nestled in the corner ceased to annoy her. She did a double take, her eyes confirming the sight previously seen. Her breath had stopped, but her 20/15 vision had yet to fail her. 

The man pinned between her legs was indeed Michael Vaughn. 

__

Drip.   


__

Drip.   


__

Drip.   


She found herself staring into the pools of green that snuck into and settled in his eyes. Her breath caught at the back of her throat, and she found herself gasping for the air that wouldn't go in, couldn't go out. All she could hear, all she could feel, all she could see, was the intense throbbing of his body as it tried its best to fill his lungs with the oxygen that he was deprived of. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, trying its best to push past the barricade built by the breath she couldn't help but hold in. 

"S-S-Sydney?" he panted, breaking the silence that had grown thicker and thicker with each breath that she attempted to take in. 

"M-M-M-Vaughn?" She finally managed, the breath rushing out of her with excellent speed. Her breathing resumed in short, forced pants, only enough to deliver the much needed oxygen throughout her body.   


__

Drip.   


__

Drip.   


__

Drip.   


Maybe Sasha had been right. He was getting too old for this. His body was reeling from lack of oxygen, each breath racking his muscular form, jolting the lithe body of Sydney Hecht, who sat on his hips, her right arm wielding what appeared to be a constipated figurine of Marie Antoinette. 

Whoa. Rewind. 

Sydney Hecht? 

He knew that shock was mutual, as once he was able to choke out her name, she could barely get out his last name. He saw her resolve to injure him slowly crumble, and he saw the fierceness slowly leak out from her chestnut irises. She looked like she was about to crumble atop him, right then and there, into millions of granules.   


__

Drip.   


__

Drip.   


__

Drip.   


In a single moment's time her perfect world had been shattered. The life she tolled so hard to keep in tack was slowly falling apart before her. It was crumbling in front of her very eyes. She was crumbling. 

Would he pick up her pieces?   


__

Drip.   


__

Drip.   


__

Drip.   


Their silence was broken by nearby sound of pounding footsteps. Both turned their gazes towards the dark doorway, then back at the mosaic. And her heart fell into her knees. 

She knew he saw it too. On either side of the giant mosaic, a tiny bulb, blinking in even intervals, flashing a tiny stream of blinding red light. 

She rolled off of him and put the arm of the figurine in her back pocket, keeping it in case she needed it later. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small canister that looked like mace. He walked about ten feet so he was about fifteen from the front of the mosaic and squatted, spraying the mist over what he could. 

Lasers. A maze of laser, leaving a pathway for a robber to walk down. Either side of the would be ladder was armed with so many lasers that it made her eyes swim together. An intricate maze of expertly placed lasers that appeared impossible to follow. All she knew was that they just stepped into a pile of shit. Deep shit.   


__

Drip.   


__

Drip.   


__

Drip.   


They face each other and bolted, each taking off in different paths, running at top speed to get to the head of the room. They jumped over toys, rockers, curtains, molded bookshelves. Midway into their flight both stopped dead in their tracks, stopped by the two sharp raps on the other side of the door. 

The bed was the closest thing to them both. They ran to it, breaking just about every record previously set. Sydney jumped and rolled underneath the bed frame, only to be caught underneath a man she hardly knew but was already enamored with. She wrenched the figurine out of her back pocket just as he rolled from beside her to on top of her, his arms and legs stretched tautly on either side of her stiff, quivering form. 

The steady pattern of dripping consumed them, the song of each individual tear of water slowly driving them insane. She'd always been lucky enough to never have been subjected to Chinese water torture, but the leaky faucet tucked into an unknown corner was trying to steal her sanity with the slowest viscosity. What made it worse was the crack that came from the shelves above. 

She visibly saw him wince. She was surprised that he wasn't quivering as much as she was, having had suspended himself above her for more then a normal person should. But then again she wasn't normal. And now he wasn't either. She wondered if she would ever see him the same again. 

A snap from above them bluntly cut her current frame of thought. The wood above him began to slowly, yet loudly crack as the door opened, emitting the noisily cursing guards. She reached up and clung to the iron planks that supported the crumbling shelves, pulling herself up and applying as much pressure as she could. The creaks stopped; not that that was an issue. 

The more important issue was the fact that her face was only inches from his.   


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   


"Adonde estan?" a gruff voice replied, the horrible Spanish laced in a thick English accent. The steps came with more frequency and volume, spreading out across the immense room. Both glanced around at the trinkets on the floor around them, doing their best to avoiding locking gazes. 

Sydney gulped, breaking the steady pattern of light panting that she, like Vaughn, had restored as the only way to draw the oxygen into their bodies. Neither of them noticed the yelling of the burly guards as they discovered that the assailants had escaped, nor the glee they voiced when they found the gold coin that Sydney had knocked from his fingers. 

They were too busy drowning in the thick tension that had swallowed them whole and threatened to never spit them out. 

__

His eyes are just so goddamn green, Sydney thought, as her gaze finally penetrated the little space between them and caught his. They were so light, so vibrant. She could see the adrenaline rushing about his irises, encompassing their thick emerald, making them almost glow from their very core. 

They were slowly eating at her, slowly boring into her soul. 

" I think they're gone," he whispered softly, his eyes never leaving hers, his taut arms never shaking or faltering. 

She nodding in agreement, wincing as the hidden doorway suddenly slammed shut. She paused and took in his unique scent before slowly lowering herself to the floor. She slid over and watched as he carefully flipped himself over and rested on his back. 

His arms were aching. Sure, he ran on average ten miles a day, and did his rounds at the gym, but it had been ages since he had actually accompanied Sasha to field training. For that matter it had been ages since he was even _in _the field. He was surprised that he had actually held up that long. 

__

Maybe I haven't lost my touch, he thought. 

He was the first to slide out from underneath the bed. Quickly and quietly he pulled himself to his feet, turning his back as she slowly followed in suit. The thoughts ran rapidly through his head, jumbling themselves together in an elaborate web of confusion that he knew would take forever to untangle. He knew that she had questions; hell he had them too. Wasn't she supposed to be a banking executive? 

Since she obviously wasn't, then what the hell was she? 

The tension they experienced underneath the molding frame of the bed was nothing compared to what they stood in now. Their breathing down steady and under control, they stood away from each other, Vaughn cradling his chin with a cupped hand, his back to her. She inched closer to him and extended a hand towards his scrunched form, stretching her long nimble fingers before curling them back in. He could feel her breathing, and the heat that radiated out of her skin. He heard her sigh, and could picture her contemplative thought. 

"Michael-I can explain." 

__

Hah. Keep thinking that, Hecht. You can't charm your way around this one. He's not just going to forget that you tried to be the crap out of him to get the exact same thing that he was. 

__

Whoa. What is he doing here? 

Her forehead creased into a frown as the thought registered in her head. What was he doing there, anyway? He certainly wasn't SD-6, or else she would have known about it. Who was he really, then? What happened to Michael Vaughn the accountant, Michael Vaughn the father? 

He turned around and stared straight into her eyes, his fiery gaze stinging her skin. He pressed his palm into the crook of her elbow, glaring down at her with interest. 

"I'm listening." 

She opened her mouth to speak, only to have her words muffled by the cocking of a gun. She heard the safety go off and felt the cold butt of a gun against the back of her skull. 

"Start talking."   


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


Vaughn peered over Sydney's shoulder only to glance straight into the blazing sapphire eyes of a raven-haired Sasha Kennedy, pressing the butt of her Colt into the back of Sydney's head. The lack of clothing she was wearing was enough to make him shiver. The father in him scowled at her ripped shirt, inappropriately short skirt, and heeled knee-length boots. But it was then that he actually noticed what Sydney was wearing. 

Her hair sported a shocking red hue that reminded him of Bozo the clown. Her lithe form sported a tight red tank top that sported the flag of the United Kingdom, her jeans low and hugging every visible curve. _Since when did Syd have a navel ring?_ he thought as he eyes took in the small feature that clung to her belly button. 

Her face froze as the metal made contact with her sensitive scalp. She winced gently, her eyes almost pleading with him as she gulped. But suddenly her face went blank, all emotion and feeling hidden behind the stern mask of what he assumed was her poker face. She inhaled and exhaled slowly carefully, her muscles loosening under his touch. 

"Do you want me to explain, or would rather shoot me?" she replied sarcastically, arousing a laugh out of the older agent. He saw Sasha cock an eyebrow, a frown creasing into the seamless contours of her face. He glared at her with his eyes. 

"Put it down, Sasha. I know her," he answered calmly, his eyes trying to deliver the message. 

"Who the hell is she?" the teenager asked, her deep eyes growing larger and larger. "Shit Mikey you've gotta be kidding me. _This _is Sydney? Your Sydney?" 

"In the flesh," Sydney replied curtly. Then, with cat-like reflexes she spun and pivoted on her left foot, swinging her right leg over to smash into Sasha's awaiting arm. The teenager delivered a sharp blow into Sydney's stomach and grabbed her right wrist, shoving her right cheek up against the wall with such force that her teeth bit down on her tongue. She pinned both wrists down, shoving her left wrist down into her lower back and pinning it down with a forceful grip, using the arch of her boots to shove down the right. 

"You do NOT wanna try that again," she whispered into Sydney's ear, pressing the butt of the Colt further into her scalp. 

"You couldn't shoot a whale two feet in front of you," Sydney spat back, quickly catching her breath. In a swift movement Sasha tossed the gun into the awaiting fingers of her left hand, freeing the wrist for mere seconds until her right hand replaced its counterpart. Aiming the gun into the distance, a shot rang out, and Vaughn moved after it, following the echo. He approached them, holding up the long discarded figurine of the late, yet famed Marie Antoinette, a bullet lodged through the middle. 

"Sasha," his voice repeated sternly, " put the damn gun down." 

"Michael she just tried to knock me out," she spat back. 

"You tried to shoot her!" 

"How the hell do we know that she's not K-Directorate? She could be an Alliance member, or even SD-6!" With that last comment they both looked her for a reaction of any sort. She was glad to be pressed up against the wall, or they would have seen her poker face slip into oblivion at the mention of SD-6. She swallowed and recovered almost quickly enough. 

"She could be CIA," he whispered softly, denial laced thickly over each word as it fell to the ears of both women. 

"But then we'd know about it," Sasha replied back softly, looking at Sydney with peaked interest. Sydney mumbled quickly, moving the girl to press her ear close to the woman's mouth. "What's that now?"   


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   


Sydney felt her stomach lurch the moment this little girl slammed her up against the wall. Ignoring the gash her teeth bit into her tongue, she swallowed down the pool of blood that had formed in her mouth and winced almost unnoticeably as she felt the abnormally strong grip on her arm. 

__

Is she using her shoe to pin me down? 

"You do NOT wanna try that again," a hoarse, almost soothing voice cooed in her ear. Sydney was pretty good a reading people, and just by hearing the girl's voice she knew that there was no way she could keep Sydney pinned down the way she was for much longer. Her voice was only driven by adrenaline, her energy only fueled by her passion and her youth. She picked apart the deep vocals the girl possessed, and in other circumstances she would have found it soothing. Deep down in the core of it she could hear a scared child hidden behind a shield of overpowering emotions and hormones. 

She ignored the cold press of the metal into the back of her skull, blocking it all out until his voice broke her haze. 

"Sasha, put the damn gun down," his voice commanded. 

"Michael she just tried to knock me out," the girl named Sasha rationalized. 

"You tried to shoot her!" he spat back. Sydney giggled inwardly, swallowing down the snicker the rose in her throat. 

"How the hell do we know that she's not K-Directorate? She could be an Alliance member, or even SD-6!" she hissed. 

"She could be CIA," he whispered softly, making her strain to hear. 

"But then we'd know about it," Sasha replied back, her voice just as soft, almost softer. Sydney could barely hear, even though her ear was right by the girl's mouth. She could tell by the sound of her voice that she wanted her to be CIA, judging by the longing that lingered in each of her gently spoken syllables. 

__

Wait a minute. They're CIA? 

They couldn't be K-Directorate. Intel had sent a message to their Russian-based branch so it would be purposely intercepted. It read that the mosaic was moved to an island in the Caribbean. An island SD-6 owned. They, of course, had yet to know that. 

They couldn't be Alliance members. They were a group of men that had other people do their dirty work for them. And they wouldn't be a teenage girl, either. 

They definitely were not SD-6. She'd know. Or would she? 

Suddenly she was whisked back to other days. Days when she was at the top of that old private elementary school. Days when all she cared about was her grades, her friends, and the job she had at the 50s diner that anyone whose anyone went to, not about saving the world. She didn't care that she was barely young enough to work the register. All she cared about was the French foreign exchange student with the brown hair and the deep blue eyes, and the night in the movie theatre. 

In those days whenever they got busted doing something stupid their teachers had a successful strategy that was almost 100% fool-proof with the younger kids, and no where near that successful with their older counterparts. Divide and conquer. Split them up and worm out the confession. Was this exchange between partners just an elaborate hoax to relax Sydney into slipping out of her cover and showing her true skin? 

Or was it just a test? 

"If you relaxed the death grip I might just be able to explain myself," her voice spoke, her words muffled as her lips were shoved up against the wall. 

"What's that now?" Sasha voiced loudly, making Sydney wince with the volume in which the words hit her eardrum. 

"If you stop shoving me up against this wall maybe I can tell YOU!!!!" Sydney screamed, yelling loud enough so that she was certain the girl heard her. A sigh reached her ears and she removed her heel from the wall, the click sounding on the floor to confirm her constant to Sydney's request. 

Bad move. 

Sydney threw her head back, a soft crack voiced just as the back of her skull made contact with Sasha's forehead. She twisted out of the now broken grip and turned the wrist that was still locked on her forearm, hearing a splinter of bone as she pinned the teenager down on the floor. She straddled the heaving back and placed her lips down near the ear that sported three earrings. 

"Comfortable?" she crooned, a smile curling on her face.   


Then everything went black.   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   


The rays of gray light filtered through the large bay windows, bluntly weaving around each obstacle to shine upon Sydney's face. The streams of pale light dancing across the drapes and almost tickled the tip of her nose. She groaned and moved to flop over onto her stomach. 

Then it hit her. 

It felt like the hangover from hell. The back of head hurt like no other and her forehead was throbbing with a pain made her weak. And that was all before she tried to open her eyes. 

As her long-lashed lids drew themselves open, they flew shut instantly. It felt as if someone had dropped a 200 pound weight on her baby toe, and as if that weren't enough, they insisted on stepping on it in a crushing motion just to add to the pain. She sucked in deep currents of air, doing her best to drown out the taste of pain that still lingered. 

The one thing her mother had taught her was that if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. 

Slowly she attempt once more to open her, eyes, forcing her eyelids to remain open no matter how much pain it was causing her. The immaculate white ceiling above first spun, spotted with black and blue and a few speckles of green. Carefully positioning her fists at her side, she pulled herself into a sitting position slowly and carefully, slowly sucking in air as she leaned against the headboard. She ignored the searing pain that cut into her ribs as she took that time to survey her surroundings. 

The very bed she sat on was huge, its volume immense, its bedspread simple, yet elegant. The room was furnished with the finest of furniture; a table and matching chairs, a desk, a sofa, and two armchairs which both face the elaborately-carved fireplace, which cradled the brightly roaring flames that light its hearth. A door was tucked in the southwest corner of the room, open to usher in more blinding light; a man stood before the windows, long and thin, a window seat furnished with pillows and cushions. 

His frame was tall and muscular, thin but not too thin. He had a strong posture, but she could see the stress radiating out of his pores. He stood in a crisp white dress shirt, sleeves rolled into the crook of his elbows, and a pair of pristine olive slacks. His long arms disappeared into his pockets, and as far as she could tell his gaze was lost in the outside scenery. 

It was raining outside. 

Then it all came back to her. The previous night, the mission, the revelation. 

The truth. 

"You're up," a soothing voice crooned. Sydney ripped her eyes away from Vaughn's outline long enough to stare into a pair of shockingly dark sapphire eyes. The teenager before her stood in a tight red tank top, slashed in the chest and a skirt short enough to make her wince. Her left arm was cradled in a sling; a black and blue bruise had painted itself at the top of her forehead. In her right hand she held out a steaming navy mug, which she then extended towards Sydney. She shook her shoulder, almost annoyed, attempting to shake a loose raven curl from her bare arm. 

She looked really familiar. 

Only his voice broke through her haze. "How are you feeling?" he inquired softly. She hadn't seen him turn to face her, but didn't have to force a smile as she lost herself in his eyes, which were a pensive olive. They were glowing with stress and concern, nearly melting away everything else that she was feeling. 

"Like I was hit by an eight wheeler," she replied sarcastically, finally accepting the offered mug apprehensively. She heard the girl scowl, but shook her head and brought the mug close to her nose so the steam curled and hugged her cheek. 

Tea. Chamomile, possibly? 

She drank deeply, filling her mouth with as much scalding tea as she could without numbing her tongue completely, and swallowed it slowly, letting the hot liquid trickle and burn down her throat. She let the soothing liquid warm her and looked up, catching his gaze. She flushed under his scrutinizing eye and blinked, averting her eyes down into her lap. 

It was then that she saw what she was wearing. Someone, the girl no doubt, had slipped her out of her clothes and into the new gray tank top that she sported. She followed their ribbed straight lines, down to the bulge around her center near her belly button. 

"You broke a couple of ribs," he replied, his eyes having retraced her route. 

"You mean _she_ broke my ribs," Sydney said, nodding towards the girl she hadn't doubted as Sasha. 

"_You_ broke my arm," was the defense. 

"_You _tried to shoot me," Sydney answered angrily, her voice rising. 

"_You_ were going to kill me," Sasha spat back. 

"Back in your corners, ladies," Vaughn cut in, stepping in between the space between the bed and Sasha. His gentle eyes must have been stern enough, because she scowled and retreated into one of the armchairs, tucking her legs underneath her. 

He shook his head and laughed, the almost sisterly like bickering clearly was amusing him. But his face suddenly turned somber. His eyes darkened, and he became a lot more serious. She knew what he was going to ask. 

"Look, Syd, I really hate to do this right now, but there's no other way. We either do it here or we take you into Langley and let them do it. 

"Who do you work for?"   


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

He felt like mentally slapping himself the moment his words left his lips. But it was true. He knew that if he took her in it would be so much worse than if he drew her out himself. 

And then he thought of Austin Powers in "International Man of Mystery", and he couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto his face. He shook off her curious look and placed his stoical poker face back on. He was supposed to be thinking James Bond, not Austin Powers. He sighed and stared at her with interest. 

Her gaze had wandered past him. Both hands held the now cold tea, nimble fingers wrapped about the dark blue mug. She mimicked his sigh, and in a whisper that he could barely hear, she answered him. 

"I'm one of you." 

__

There's no way in hell I just told him that. Did I just tell him that? 

She could see him reel as the words washed over him. "Excuse me?" 

"You said you were CIA. I'm one of you." He exchanged a furtive glance with Sasha, both their eyes worried. 

"When did he say that?" The teenager piped in, not caring that both adults wished to keep the conversation private. 

"Last night...you said if I was CIA you'd know about it. To know about it you'd therefore have to be CIA." 

"Exactly," the girl replied. "We _are_ CIA." 

"So am I." 

This was going nowhere fast. She felt her stomach churn as the other two studied each other and her for the next step. 

She had just majorly screwed up. 

Everything was crumbling around her. 

"That's impossible. We're both CIA agents, and Sasha's the only other agent authorized to be on this mission." 

Then Sasha shot up, her eyes widening. "Oh my god Michael...she's SD-6!   


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   


She had no idea how it happened. It just started, and the words spilling out one after the other, nearly tripping over each other in their mission to be said first. They were the words she had planned to tell Danny, the words that she ended up swallowing that day in the oil fields when she bit down her words and began the lies that would last until his sudden, unexpected death. 

"I'm not an investment banker. I don't work for a bank named Credit Dauphine, I don't go to San Diego the way I'm supposed to.

" During the fall of my freshman year, a man approached me. He told me that the U.S. government might be interested in talking to me about a job. When I asked why me, all he told me is that I fit a profile. I didn't feel like I belonged anywhere. Even in college. And I needed the money anyway, so I met with him and they offered me a job.

"After the first month, I asked if I could test for agent training. The test was easy. They said I was a natural. Maybe I was, because…I advanced too quickly. It was exciting, it was exhilarating. I'd never experienced anything like it before. 

"It was just a job. Just something to pay the bills, the loans. The deeper I went, the more missions they sent me on…I knew then that I was stuck. I went to grad school intending to be English lit major like my mother and ended up transferring to business to just feed my cover. Before I knew it I was in too deep. I was married, and eventually pregnant with three children, none of which know that their mother or wife did what she does. 

"Five years ago my husband died. All I got was a phone call, a confirmation after he'd gone missing for several days, not returning from a medical seminar. I know it's not my fault, but I can't help but feel guilty every time my five-year-old daughter asks to hear about her father for the hundredth time."

They were both silent. The roaring fire cracked loudly, throbbing as it rumbled from its spot in the fireplace. Vaughn had resumed his position by the window, leaning against the burgundy wallpaper with his deep eyes fixated on the floor. Sasha was curled up in her armchair; a blanket was pulled up over and wrapped about the knees she had clutched in her chest. Her gaze was similarly situated, the thoughts almost buzzing about her.

He leaned back, using all his will power to keep from gaping at her. He knew that neither of them was prepared for the confession that they received. Vaughn was shocked to reveal that the agent Arvin Sloane sent on a mission as important as this hadn't known the true SD-6, while Sasha was most likely dwelling on the fact that he had managed to find the perfect woman-only to find out she wasn't what she said she was.

He felt his voice catch in the back of his throat with each breath. She thought she was a secret agent risking her life everyday for her country when she was actually fighting for the wrong side.

Is there even a euphemism for that?

"Wow," Sasha blurted, breaking the awkward silence as only she could. "I thought _I_ had a sob story."

Both adults chuckled, Vaughn shaking his head until Sydney did a double take.

"My confession's a sob story to you two?"

Sasha winced. She knew she had screwed up. Horribly and irreversibly. He could tell from the way she wrinkled her face that she had only expected a laugh from the remark that she gave them. She turned to meet his eyes, her dark sapphire irises begging for a rescue.

"You're not going to want to hear this," he started.

"I'll be the judge of that." He took a deep breath and sighed. 

It was good that she was sitting down.

"SD-6 isn't CIA."

--

that's it for now…I know you'll kill me…but I need sometime to brainstorm on how I'm gunna lay more on you….please review and tell me what you think!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. A Moon of Green Cheese

AN: Well here's Ch. 9...excuse the title...I've had an idea for this running through my head for a while. Thanks to those of you how helped me finding a beta, cause now I've got one!!!! Brix you rock! Well here goes another one...puuulleezeee keep all the feedback coming! No reviews, no chapters...I'm pretty good at holding things hostage.... anyway...thanks for your patience! read on, enjoy, and let me know what you thought! 

~PG-13...for now 

~ Feedback is the food of the writer's soul: little_pink_monkeys64@hotmail.com or purtyinpink17@yahoo.com 

~ Do I really have to do this? Am I a multi-million dollar genius? Is my name JJ Abrams??? 

This one is for Brix, the best, Elizabeth with her mind-blowing work, and Nic for her patience. Also for You Know…thanks for making my day with your previous review!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Angel~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By: Lulu

Chapter IX: A Moon of Green Cheese

It had been raining cats and dogs. Pouring. It seems as if the heavens were crying with her, their eyes bleeding painfully with the impact of this latest news. He was sure that he had pretty much just shattered her world-for the second time that night. But it was then he realized that it was hardly night anymore. 

An unknown force drove him to stand up. He stood, the creases in his heavily starched slacks bouncing back, smoothening themselves. He strode over to the large bay windows, crossing his arms in tentative thought, his back to her. He almost left her to be alone with her thoughts, closing off his eyes and ears to anything behind him. All that he saw was the watery, wet dawn that sprung up before him. All he wanted was to dive down the twenty stories of their five-star Madrid hotel and dive into the wet concrete, to drown in the silvery tears cried by the stars. 

He was surprised to see the ocean of endless midnight blue slowly bleed into light tones of autumn. The purple, then pink, then red, than orange, than yellow, each color and hue blending together in a serene harmony that seemed to calm him every time it reached his eyes. The glistening stars fought to shine through the rain, fading as the sun began to spread it lavish rays about the sky. The moon was illuminated in its own corner, full, round and resilient, almost sneaking away to avoid the wrath of its sister. For one of the stormiest nights he had encountered in a long time, the sky was almost clear, barely congested. The moon was brighter than it had been in a long time...its was either that, or the most probable alternative that the layer of smog that had layered itself over the LA atmosphere had swallowed it whole refused to spit it out. 

He remembered in his childhood, before his father's death, that he had been able to convince his sisters Jackie and Noelle that the moon was made of cheese. They were fascinated at the story he told, concocted by his wild imagination. He told them stories to keep them from mission their father, from crying for him in their sleep. Little Michael Vaughn sat on the front porch with his kid sisters, telling themthat their father was an astronaut who went to the moon to retrieve pieces of cheese for them. 

But this cheese wasn't just any cheese. It was green. 

He may have been young, but he wasn't completely naive. He knew his father could not have possibly been able lie his way out of it, so he told them that it was only green under a special light, one cast by the moon itself on Friday the 13th on a leap year. Amazingly, that leap year there had been a Friday the 13th. Several. But by then their father had stopped bringing home the French cheese whose name they couldn't pronounce. He had stopped coming home. 

He remembered his mother telling that story to his date for junior prom, Becky Hirsch, the famed senior with an undeniable crush towards the 17-year-old hockey star. Her shrill laughter still rang in his ears. Needless to say, that relationship was flushed two weeks later. 

Charlotte Vaughn also told that story to his date for senior prom, Greta Stratford. The beautiful, shy, charming Greta Stratford with the smile that always brightened his day. He liked her best out of the snobby cheerleaders, because she wasn't like the rest. She'd always teased him about it, and all throughout college she referred to him as "Moony" or "Green Cheese". It was probably one of the longest relationship he'd ever had, lasting well into grad school. Many thought marriage was ahead for them. Last he heard she was recruited by Operations two months after he was, and stationed near their Manhattan HQ. Occasionally she'd pop in and say hi when she was in town. 

Then he got a call from Alexander Gray, his sister's husband, a fellow agent. Their Swiss headquarters had just recovered the body of a thirty-year-old female they identified through DNA fingerprinting as a Special Agent Greta Stratford-Moore. It broke his heart to discover that she had been carrying twins, almost at the end of her first trimester. It toyed with his emotions to represent the Agency at her funeral, to console her clueless husband, to embrace her pigtailed daughter. 

He was tired to doing their dirty work. He was tired of cleaning up the destruction left in the wake of what once was a perfectly blissful life. 

He remembered the day they told his father. His father's partner and his wife came to the house, pulling up in a generic black sedan that his father drove as well. He remembered that he had been outside, playing catch with Jackie, watching little Noelle as she tried to stick a large softball mouth. The slam of the metal from the cars called to him, and they both set down their mitts, scooping up their little sister on their mad dash inside the house. 

They skidded to a stop near the kitchen, sliding on the tile as the sound of serious voices floated up to their ears. Uncle Jack and Aunt Laura, he had thought to himself, standing by the French doors that connected their living room to the grand kitchen. The teapot squirmed from its perch on a burner, almost ready to release its steam. He studied it intently, memorizing every inch of its blunt iron until he felt an elbow in his side. The voices stopped. 

He heard his mother yell for them. "Michael! Jacqueline!" her voice screamed, repeating said names in a mantra than lessened in volume until they appeared before her, the latter cradling the three-year-old blonde with her Shirley Temple curls. The pot began to whistle softly, in the background 

All he remembered then was hearing the teapot's volume scream out of control. Vision of his shocked mother, his bawling sister, the toddler in her arms confused, his brother Tyler sitting calmly and serenely in his Aunt Laura's lap. The agony that had laced itself in her face was something he never remembered going away. He could have sworn he saw it that day four years later at her wake, her face cold, lifeless, swollen, and pained. 

And he had hated Jack. He hated Jack Bristow for having the nerve to come to their house and tell them the news that would shatter their world. 

Did he know what this would do to them? 

Over time his hate for him subsided, laced with the hate for the man that came to his father's service. Did they pay those guys to look like they have a golden rod stuck up their ass? He told his mother that the Agency sent their condolences. But he knew it was bullshit. His father's handler couldn't have been there, as Mr. Golden Rod told Charlotte that "he was detained in Washington for question." 

He knew that was bullshit too. 

The worst part was that he had become what he hated most. Was he really the new Mr. Golden Rod? Was his face really as blank and as emotionless as the man present at his father's funeral? 

When he had been younger, his parents tried to soften the bad news a piece of good information. His mom kept it up until he told her to "cut the bullshit" because he couldn't "look at the world through rose-colored glasses." And he had tried that on Olivia, in the early days. 

No matter how hard he tried it never worked. 

Now there was only bad news. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The room had become deathly silent. He could practically hear the thoughts tiptoeing about, trying their best not to disturb then uncomfortable piece. He was suffocating. 

" I'm going to go change," Sasha's deep soprano spoke, voicing the thoughts she had most likely been suppressing. He laughed, and if his eardrums hadn't failed him, he could have sworn he heard her laugh too. Even if her left arm hadn't been broken, she still would have needed someone to cut that shirt off of her. When they left the tunnels, an unconscious Sydney slung over Vaughn's shoulder, the rain began, shrinking the shirt a little more than what should have been legal. Nevertheless, she uncurled herself and stood, confirming her departure as the door slammed behind her. 

And he was left all alone. With her. With the silence. 

The silence was going to kill him. He could feel her anger, her frustration, and her hurt. He could only imagine what kind of life she'd lived by only taking one look into those watered chestnut irises. He hated to see her like this. And he'd barely known her for a handful of weeks.

She had been perfect. The perfect mother, the jovial companion, the professional executive. And, he supposed, a loving wife. The light that twinkled in her eyes when she smiled could warm him from head to toe, and clear his head when he'd had the worst day. He could see her crumbling, and crumbling fast.

But would she let him pick up her pieces?

He'd thought she was perfect. And to him, she still was.

Maybe it was denial, or that gut feeling that seemed to plague every living Vaughn, but he knew she couldn't be who Sasha thought she was. She couldn't be a traitor. The patriotism seemed to radiate out of her pores, and their country had been the topic of discussion more than it should have been. 

He thought he knew her. He could have sworn that he did. His memory had lapsed after William Vaughn's death, blurring most of his memories of before, but there were still certain things that he couldn't forget. And he couldn't shake off the feeling that he knew her.

He could feel himself beginning to drown. Drown in denial. Drown in betrayal. Drown in those deep, blurry eyes. Drown in her sorrow, in her pain. In her disbelief.

He was regretting Sasha's departure. 

Who was going to save him from drowning? 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

This was NOT the night she had in mind. 

What did she really want to happen? All she wanted to do was get those damn papers and run home. She wanted to be back in time to see her children before they went to bed. 

It was supposed to be an easy mission. In and out. Fast. Put Slot A into Slot B and bam! That's it. That's all. 

This was definitely not what she was dreaming about on the plane to Madrid. 

Instead she was thinking about lying in her tub, wrapped safely in a film of soft, vanilla bubbles. She was thinking about her next date with Michael, scheduled to take place in three days' time. She was thinking about the dinner, the dancing, and the kiss. She wanted to stop feeling guilty about glancing at anything male that moved. She yearned to be like any single woman her age would be. 

This particular piece of news would definitely be a set back.

Sydney sighed and drew in a deep breath, relishing the tasteless feel of oxygen in the deep recesses of her throat. She drew back the covers, revealing her numbed legs, wrapped in long flannel pants that were tighter than meant to be. An attempt to stand was quickly shot down as a pain sprinting up and down her side.

He had told her that she broke a few ribs. It certainly didn't feel like it.

She's broken a few ribs before. Once, in high school, while waiting for the start of the varsity hockey team's state qualifier, which they lost, to the visiting team. She wasn't surprised; after seeing her team on the ice for about five minutes she realized they were in deep shit. The senior star was playing the game of his life to polish off his already dazzling career on the varsity team, which dated back to his freshman year.

Anyway, the boys thought she had only been team manager to swim in the eye candy. They, however, were soon proven wrong, as they soon saw when she decided to suit up and join them in a pre-game warm-up. 

Sadly enough, the year she left the school began recruiting for a girl's hockey team. 

The few ribs she had broken were barely pinches in her side. That, however, could have been due to thecountless pills she was spoon-fed by the housekeeper, a tall elegant Frenchwoman in her late thirties named Clarisse, who living with the Bristows while she got a degree at USC. She'd been more of a companion then a housekeeper.

And that's most likely where Sydney learned to cuss in French. 

She saw him twitch as the words "Fuck saint," left her lips. His whole form seemed to vibrate as he chuckled softly to himself. She bit down on her parched lips and sent shudders up and down her spine as she attempted to stand again. She grabbed hold of the mahogany bedpost, breathing in uneven, forced tones until she could get a harness on the pain.

Suck it up, Hecht. You've felt worse than this.

After what seemed like an eternity to them both, she was able to cross the room, somewhat limping across the room to his side.

"I didn't realize she did this much damage to me when she slammed me up against that wall," she muttered, attempting to cross her arms over her chest. Her ribs, of course, wailed in protest, and she ended up gripping her elbow behind her back, a position that she would be regretting in the morning.

He released another exaggerated chuckle, blowing the held-in air out through his nostrils. "With what you did to that arm of hers, I'll be surprised if she comes out of that room at all today. I don't think I've ever seen a doctor wince the way hers did. That was a nasty break." She smiled, nearly untraceable, glad to have held her own.

"Don't throw a party yet. She did a number on your rib cage, and the dentist at the safehouse had to stitch up the gum from the molar she knocked out," he said, almost reprimanding her slight celebration. He laughed lightly at her, his manner jovial and nearly brotherly, to the point where Sydney expected him to reach over and tussle her hair. 

Silence. Nothing but silence had surrounded them. All that serenaded them was her uneven breathing patterns, some that came out as gentle wheezes. She could practically hear the thoughts as were being processed through his mind.

"This isn't a test, is it? This isn't just some sick way of testing my loyalty?" Sydney blurted, staring him straight in the eye. She began to pray that his answer would do anything but confirm her thoughts.

He took in a deep breath, then turned to face her, his own eyes voicing the feelings that she was sure she mirrored. 

"Do you really think the CIA would send two agents without notifying the supervising officer? Sydney, SD-6 is anything but CIA."

"Bullshit. Prove it."

"You know the Alliance?"

She snorted. "Of course I know the Alliance. How could I not know the Alliance of Twelve? They're an enemy of the United States."

"The head of SD-6 is one of them."

"What?!" was all Sydney could manage. How the hell did he expect her to believe all the bullshit that was spilling out of his mouth? She bit down on her dried lips, resisting the urge to slap some sense into him.

"You can't be asking me to just believe you."

"What else am I going to do? Just let you walk away and pretend this never happened?"

"Sounds good to me!"

She paused and glared at him, blinking rapidly with increasing speed. He raised an eyebrow, his deep emerald eyes challenging her even more.

"If you really wanted to leave, you'd be gone by now," he whispered, his voice rough and hoarse.

"I can't very well move with you blocking my way," she retorted, moving closer to him.

"Come on now, Sydney. If you really wanted me to move, you'd make me move."

The fire cracked from within its stone bed, muffling a sound that came from the corner of the massive room. The noise grew louder until they both noticed Sasha standing in attire similar to Sydney's, the raven hue of her bouncy curls washed clean into what Sydney assumed was her natural color, a deep, rich chocolate brown. The previously dark color had effect the reflection of the light against her eyes, making them hauntingly dark. Now they were a dark, rich cerulean. 

"Have you guys really been at it for that long?" the girl spoke, crossing the room to join the group.

"Excuse me?" Sydney questioned, raising an eyebrow.

" I had time to wriggle out of those clothes, wrap the cast and shower. How long have you two been fighting?"

"Who said we were fighting?" Vaughn snapped, almost glaring at her.

"Fine, fine. You weren't." She turned to Sydney and smiled almost mockingly. "I'm Sasha Kennedy by the way. It's a pleasure, really."

" Sydney Hecht," was the reply she was met with. Struggling, she finally forced herself into the sling, resting her pristine white cast in its light blue cradle.

"Not having any luck, are you," Sasha stated, directing her words to Vaughn as if Sydney wasn't there. Sydney bit down a snort before watching for a reply. 

"No. She refuses to believe that-" he sighed. Then an idea struck him. It was a last resort they used, the tool that got the worst of the stubborn to believe whatever they wanted. One look into his haunted eyes and the viewer was launched into an unexplainable hypnotic state driven by pity and remorse.

"I think I have an idea."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He'd placed the call, which was immediately returned. Luckily for them he had been in the city, on business, and he knew exactly what they wanted him to do. That was just his nature; he was reliable and steady, faithful and true. They could always count on him to be there.

Two hours later, as the bright colors of dawn bled into the gray of day, there was a knock on the door. A bellhop delivering room service, carrying the standard silver platter and dish cover. The dish, once stripped, was hoarding a thick packet of manila files, each containing at least thirty sheets. Within fifteen minutes of its arrival, there was another knock at the door that led into the massive suite. 

She could hear the greetings taking place in the rooms far before her. She also heard the footsteps as their guest came closer and closer, following them into the room to reveal his/her identity.

"Daddy?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Hello Sydney."

__

You have GOT to be kidding me.

She thought things couldn't have gotten worse. It looked like they just did.

He was avoiding her eyes. She could see it in his jerked movements, a change from the well-oiled flow of his joints that she had become accustomed to. His impassive face was weathered, marked with deep grooves that only stress could cut. His blank, nearly opaque eyes had suddenly flooded with an intense, heartbreaking pain.

Since when had she called him Daddy anyway?

If she was surprised at the shock on Vaughn's face when he discovered her in the tunnels, it was absolutely nothing compared to the look that glazed his features. A misty haze had settled over his olive irises, and the blood had fled his cheeks and forehead in a mass exodus for parts unknown. She could practically hear a buzz radiating from his pores as she imagined the thoughts running wildly through his mind.

Sasha's expression was priceless. Her eyes bugged out, their almond shape almost completely rounding, their deep cerulean color almost fading out into an eerie crystal blue.

Come to think of it, cerulean had always been her favorite color. As a child it was her favorite crayon. Unlike her childhood best friend Nona, she absolutely loathed baby blue, and in the second grade, she managed to pick out every "sky blue" crayon and successfully dispose of them in the school's old fashion, antique incinerator. 

"Wait a minute…you're Sydney Bristow? Little Sydney Bristow?" he blurted, his eyes moving from their trained position on the floor to lock gaze with hers. They cut through her with their accusing gaze, piercing through her skin with their curiosity. 

" Ñâÿòîå òðàõàþòñÿ. Âû äîëæíû øóòèòü ìåíÿ! Ýòà äåâî÷êà äåéñòâóþùèé äëÿ àãåíòñòâà ïîääåëêè è äî÷åðè íàèáîëåå âàæíîãî àêòèâà ÖÐÓ?. " All three looked up at the astonished teenager, who began to pace as the foreign words flew off her tongue. She stopped and stared at them, blinking. "Yes? Haven't you ever heard anyone cuss in Russian before?" [AN: I do not speak Russian, so an online translator was used. Any corrects are welcome, but don't bite my head of if it's wrong!]

"Bristow is my maiden name," she retorted, wondering where he was going with this. The concept seemed simple to her, but to him it appeared to have an entirely different meaning. His eyes grew almost as large as Sasha's had, and he ripped his gaze off of her long enough to glare at her father.

"You never told me-" he began accusingly, his eyes becoming down cast, foreign.

"Michael, you never asked." Jack answered, his voice full of certainty. Then Sasha paused, her glance wandering between all three. 

"Okay. Wait a minute. I'm confused."

"That would make two of us," Sydney commented in agreement. Both crossed their arms and peered anxiously at the men in the room, blinking fiercely. Sasha's gaze was burning, the flames warming Sydney as they scorched the eyes of the two men before them. Sydney stared at the immaculate white carpet, her eyes briefly glancing up at both before they were caught in the expression of worry and pain in Vaughn's eyes. 

Then she remembered.

Those pools of green ignited the memories long buried, the memories of life before her mother's sudden tragic death. When she remembered seeing her father smile, hearing his low laugh, envisioning the world hrough his eyes. A time that has been blanked out for the most part, spare a few memories, a few thoughts of happy events past. She remembered her tenth birthday, the first after her mother's death, sitting on the porch swing of his father's partner's house with Nona snuggled in between her and her older brother.

Michael.

Sixteen-year-old Michael with the greenest eyes she'd ever seen, and the smile that melted every girl to her knees. The overprotective, strong, mature Michael who was quick on his feet, and great with a hockey stick, his skill dating back before his amazing high school career.

Remembering Nona herself wasn't as hard as she thought. The years suddenly began to bleed together as her mind strained further and further back, into the days just after her life changed forever. But remembering the girl she grew up with wasn't as difficult as she expected it to be. Straight, cornsilk curls that fell in soft curls to the middle of her shoulder blades, deep gray eyes that always smiled. Long, skinny legs, a matured torso, and the same amazing dimpled smile that she shared with all of her siblings. 

The smile that made her brother a hot commodity. 

But she would have remembered her Nona the moment she heard her real name, as Nona was a name that she herself bestowed upon her friend at a young age because she couldn't pronounce her true name. It was one of those things that just stuck.

Then she remembered that the girls of her family were christened with hyphenated names. She'd always thought it was strange that Nona and her sister went by their mother's maiden name. Delorme.

__

Oh my god. 

"Nona?" she whispered softly, her eyes conveying everything she had just realized. 

"Who the hell is Nona?" Sasha blurted, still wrapped in her own confusion.

"Noelle Delorme is my sister," Vaughn replied, blinking in disbelief. "Her best friend Sydney Bristow gave her that nickname a long time ago. Oh my god…Sydney?" he repeated, gapping in shock.

"Mikey? Nona's big brother Mikey?"

"This is insane!" Sasha exclaimed, shaking her curls furiously. "You two knew each other? How?"

"Michael's father was my partner. We raised our children together. My wife and Charlotte were close friends," Jack spoke, ending his long silence. His voice commanded the attention of all in the room, his deep tenor irresistible to the ear. Sasha's mouth clasped itself shut, and she moved into one of the armchairs, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Look," he continued, his voice gaining volume. "We don't really have time to play catch up here. We need to get to that manuscript before the Alliance gets a hold of it. With you three acting like children, we're going to get no where. Is that clear?"

"It's not that easy, Jack. We can't just spring back. She just found out-"

"Life, Mr. Vaughn, is not as simple as we'd all like to it be. Now, it we could please get on with this briefing-it is imperative that Sloane suspects absolutely nothing. But first things first."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had taken them two hours. Two hours to map out the creation of SD-6, and its true purpose. Two hours of listening in horror as her estranged father explained what SD-6 really was. Why it's initals for _SD_ translated to 'department that doesn't exist.' Two hours of coming to terms with the fact that each time she left for a mission she was risking her life for an effort that meant to harm others.

What had shocked her even more was the fact that her father worked with them. Her father, Jack Bristow, the jet parts factory dealer, the man who barely knew his daughter. She could barely remember the real him, his smile, his laugh. All she knew was that he had worked with her, side-by-side, all those years, while she was blind to the truth. And he spent the entire time working to undo her progress, to bring SD-6 closer to it's downfall. 

They had given her time. To collect her thoughts, to regroup. To think. That had been just over an hour ago. The noon sun was just beginning to peak through the gray, and the rain still continued. She'd been alone, by herself, to sit in her shock, her disbelief, her betrayal. The only other human being she'd seen was Sasha, and that had been fifteen minutes ago. A unique one-dimpled smile had spread itself across her face, something that failed to twinkle in the glistening cerulean of her eyes. She brought with her a tray of coffee, bagels, cream cheese, and a phone.

"Your partner called…Dixon's his name, right?" She asked cautiously, placing the platter by the table snuggled in between the two chairs, one cradling Sydney in its deep upholstery. 

"Dixon!" Sydney hissed involuntarily, snatching the phone off of the tray with shocking speed. " I completely forgot-what if he's notified Sloane?"

Another smile served as her only answer, lighting Sasha's face, her eyes reflecting her amusement. "Don't worry about it. He thinks your still somewhere outside Malaga."

"How'd you get him to believe that?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"You'd be surprised what people believe when they're desperate enough," Sasha replied, her voice an almost exact mimic of Sydney's. Sydney felt her eyes bug out as she gapped at the girl, who offered her a sympathetic smile. 

"How-"

"I've no clue how I do it-I just-do," she shrugged. "Last night I used your ear piece and mic to tell him that _you_ were fine. I said that you'd meet him as planned, unless notified otherwise. He called to check up on you…he figures that you'll catch a later flight." With that, Sasha moved to the door, lingering in the frame. "The onion bagel's the best," she offered, a small smile on her face.

And those were the last words she ever heard uttered by another human being. She'd only been alone with her thoughts, alone with herself. She sighed.

The tears began to flood her eyes as she examined the file folder before her, which was folded back to reveal a stark black-and-white picture of Danny, his smiling eyes reaching out at her. Her father pulled the file from the security sector of Credit Dauphine, using it as a last resort to make her see that they weren't lying to her.

He knew. 

He knew what she was. He knew what she did every night when he thought she was in Boston, or New York, or even San Diego. How he'd stumbled upon the knowledge was something that no one could explain, but they knew he was a liablity. She shoved the first picture aside to reveal the handful of pictures of her at numerous locations, Danny's form and outline circled with a blunt red permanent marker. 

His head had been sudden and unexpected. He went up for a retreat with the staff from the hospital, deciding to return early from Lake Arrowhead. Unfortuantely, the on-coming snow had decided to move first. 

The road were icy, the light horrible, the guard rails weak. They found his car the next day, only to find his body two weeks later. A copy of the autospy confirmed their suspicions that he died of head injuries and hypothermia. And attached to that was a copy of his _real_ autospy. Three bullet wounds to the chest, one to the ankle. They'd killed him.

They'd taken Danny away from her.

Was it possible to have your heart broken twice in one night?

He had been perfect. He was the perfect guy, the best father, an ideal lover. Or at least that's what she'd gathered. His daughter worshipped the ground he walked on and there was no other palce that she'd rather be then in his arms. She knew it was too good to be true.

Then she'd learned that the man she worked for was the devil incarnate. He'd been more of a father to her than anybody else had. He'd lied to every new innocent recruit chosen, and he'd ordered the murder of her husband. Her loving, trusting, supporting husband. Who also happened to be following her. She was just glad that he picked days when she was in town, not on case sensitive information. But he'd heard. And he knew enough.

The tears began to involuntarily stream down her face, tracing the contours of her cheek, running down her chin. She stood and moved to the window, hoping to clear her eyes with the swift moment. She found that the tears only began to rain down harder, their rate uncontrollable, keeping rhythm with the pouring rain. Each sob shook her form, each deep breath sending a ripple of pain through her beaten side, a pain that she soon found herself ignoring.

She didn't remember when she first felt the strong arms pull her in. They encompassed her as she wailed out in her sorrow, letting go of everything. The anguish spilled out with her salty tears and his grip tightening, his hands massaging her back in a soothing motion. His whispered words comforted her as she tucked herself deep into the crook of his neck, nestling deeper and deeper. She wanted to get away from everything, and he seemed to be the only thing that could help her do that.

The pain in his glowing green eyes cut through her as her tears slowly lessened. She could see that his life was easy as it seemed to be. Once glance into those glistening irises and she knew she wasn't going to have to go through this alone.

Arvin Sloane would pay for what he did to her.

And she knew that man whose arms encompassed her would help her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Neither knew for sure how they stood there, locked in embrace. After her tears had subsided, she leaning against his firm chest, letting the steady beat of his heart lull her into a lethargic state. She refused to move, to speak, to feel. All she wanted to do was stay in his arms, and listen to the rhythm of his heart.

But they both knew that as much as they wanted to, they couldn't just be. They need to move on, with their lives, continue to fight the fight. They knew something had to be done. She heard it in his sigh, a brief release of air that pushed her out of her comatose state.

" This doesn't change this," he spoke softly. "Between us. I still intend to take you to may favorite resturant in Ojai and spoil you rotten," he continued, rousing a giggle from the agent snuggled between the folds of his arms. She smiled into his shirt and nodded.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she responded, sighing at the knock that sounding from the door. She untangled herself from his arms, wiping her red eyes as she moved to open the door to admit her stressed out father and a saddened Sasha, her eyes relaying feelings that her smile didn't.

"I take it your in on this then," Sasha's voice whispered, answered only by a nod. Her father smiled brightly, motioning to the mahogany table tucked into the large room's corner. 

"It's imperative that this goes perfectly according to plan. We need to retrieve that manuscript in time for Tech to make a dupliate that Sydney will be able to give Sloane. There's no telling what he'll do with it, and trial by error is just not an option. Here's what we're going to do."

----

Okay, there. I'm sorry that took me sooooo long, but I have had two major school projects due and not enough time to keep up with this…Chapter 10 is in the works, and should be out by Saturday at the latest…harrass me if it's not! be a good reader….

review 


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